


Right Place, Right Time

by accioblueberrypancakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Romance, BAMF Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Falling In Love, Fred Weasley Lives, Friendship, Good Slytherins, Healer Draco Malfoy, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Harry Potter, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Romance, Sirius Black Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioblueberrypancakes/pseuds/accioblueberrypancakes
Summary: Hermione is well aware of her growing list of issues in her life and she has been avoiding them like the plague. Sue her if her PTSD from the war hadn't been cured... It's not like she looked for any help.Draco, on the other hand, has always known he had issues, but he has a Malfoy patented way of dealing with them. Which technically means he briefly acknowledged them at some point in his life and then ignored them.Watch as these two idiots find each other in a mess called life, attempt to solve their so-called "issues", and trek through their magical world that is never quite done with being evil, or annoying; which honestly depends on how you see the magical world.(Also posted in FanFiction.net)





	1. Life Curveballs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy inclined his head at her. She noticed his faint smirk and glared slightly. Damn the Malfoy prat, he wanted her to ask him why he was her appointment. Hermione wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes at him. The two former schoolmates stared at each other, neither relenting in their gazes. Hermione blinked and kept frowning.  
> “Alright Malfoy,” said Hermione in a strict tone. “What can I help you with.”  
> It came out more forceful than she intended. He was already crawling under her skin and he hadn’t even said anything.   
> Malfoy reached into his cloak, pulled out a tube of rolled parchment, and placed it on Hermione’s desk. His facial expression shifted to an aloof one, as if he could care less about being there.

**_London, England_ **  
**_Thursday, September 11, 2003_**

* * *

  
Hermione was ten minutes late.

This was very unusual for her. However, her first meeting of the day was with someone that she was in no rush to meet. She knew that being one minute late was enough to send her into a frenzied panic. Now ten minutes? She might as well take her time. The war heroine stepped onto the road, as the lights on the poles flashed, her head jumbled with her thoughts. The woman felt the odd leftovers of her hangover drumming at the back of her skull as she kept walking to her destination.

  
It was a bleary Thursday morning; the clouds overhead loomed precariously with the promise of rain. Hermione sighed pulling her cloak tighter around herself. She had already drunk through two bottles of expensive wine her parents had gifted her two years ago. And half a bottle of Firewhiskey that Harry had left the last time he was at her place. Hermione cursed silently at her inability to deal with situations head-on anymore.

  
Where was her Gryffindor spirit?

Her face contorted with a grimace.  
That so-called “spirit” was most likely buried beneath the mess that she would call her life.

As she weaved through the crowd of muggles, Hermione was still lost in her thoughts. She was faintly surprised that her hangover potion was not as potent as it used to be. Seconds later spotted the red phone booth at the junction of Scotland Place and Great Scotland Yard and made a beeline for it. Hermione just wanted to get the day over and done with. Her flat was near the Ministry’s guest entrance, so most days she preferred to walk than Floo.

  
Hermione arrived at her main office that was on Level 5 of the Ministry of Magic and in the Division of Magical Legal Processes. Sitting outside of her office, looking bored and uninterested was the person that she was to meet. Her employees were all curiously watching as she approached the person. Hermione gave no mind to him and walked over to her secretary's circulation desk where a Lisbet Willoughby sat proudly.

  
Hermione approached Lisbet’s desk with a dim smile. “Hey Lis,” she said. “Any messages?”

  
Lisbet’s eyes shifted from the person outside Hermione’s door to Hermione herself. The blonde looked radiant, her green eyes wide with wonder as she greeted Hermione.

  
“You haven’t got any messages,” Lisbet said, her American drawl evident as she spoke. “Only one meeting so far.”  
Hermione shot Lisbet a curious look.

  
“Why do you look as if you’re glowing?” Hermione was frowning.

  
Lisbet shrugged, her wavy hair falling over her shoulders. Hermione’s secretary was an excitable American witch that moved from New York City two years ago. She loved muggle movies and gossip. Though, to be fair, Hermione’s whole office loved to gossip. But that was a different story in itself.

  
“We are all dying to know why, Malfoy, is sitting in front of your office,” Lisbet asked, her eyes sparkling.

  
Hermione shot Lis a scathing look and turned away without answering the witch; who was used to not getting replies from her boss. The curly haired woman strode past Malfoy, who had resigned a look of faint interest as Hermione ignored him and wandlessly unlocked her door.

  
“Come in Malfoy,” Hermione called as she walked through her door.

  
Every eye in the office was on the tall, pale, sharp looking Malfoy. It was also peculiar that he was wearing a muggle suit that was showing underneath an expensive cloak. Malfoys were never shy about showing off their wealth. Hermione waited for Malfoy to take a seat, in a stiff manner, before she waved her hand shutting the door. The air was tense as Malfoy looked. He sat in the chair across from Hermione’s desk rigged as a piece of wood. She wondered, offhandedly, if that’s how he always looked now. Hermione wanted to ask him if he ever relaxed.

  
“So.”

  
Malfoy inclined his head at her. She noticed his faint smirk and glared slightly. Damn the Malfoy prat, he wanted her to ask him why he was her appointment. Hermione wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes at him. The two former schoolmates stared at each other, neither relenting in their gazes. Hermione blinked and still frowned.

  
“Alright Malfoy,” said Hermione in a strict tone. “What can I help you with.”

  
It came out more forceful than she intended. He was already crawling under her skin and he hadn’t even said anything. Malfoy reached into his cloak, pulled out a tube of rolled parchment, and placed it on Hermione’s desk. His facial expression shifted to a disinterested one. As if he could care less about being there.

  
“Before you start your tirade of accusing me of anything, have a look at that,” he said.

  
Hermione reached for the parchment and unfurled it; careful to make sure he hadn’t cursed it. It was a foot and a half long and there was a contract written on it. The script on the parchment was very wispy, following the trademark Ministry of Magic handwriting, and Hermione could feel the magic seeping from it.

  
**_Ministry of Magic_**  
**_Magical Contract: Department of Mysteries_**

  
Hermione’s eyebrows shot straight up. She raised her wand hand and waved it in the air while her eyes traced the parchment, she had cast a Muffliato Charm. Malfoy eyed her differently at the second use of wandless magic. He had known that Granger was well versed in wandless magic, he just didn’t know to which extent. Wandless magic was only so rare because most wizards did not have excellent control over their magic; many people were sloppy at best. Malfoy was proud of his control, but he shouldn’t have been too surprised that Hermione also had excellent control.

  
Hermione, on the other hand, gripped the contract firmer in her hand. The contract stated that Malfoy was to be the Department of Mysteries’ on call Healer. It also stated that he was to do rounds in the offices twice a week.  
Kingsley's magical signature was signed at the bottom, along with Malfoy’s regal signature. There was also space for her to sign next to the title, Head of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione placed the parchment on her desk and looked at Malfoy.

  
“Since when have you been a qualified Healer,” said Hermione, failing to keep her tone non-accusatory. “Especially for the Department of Mysteries?”

Draco scowled, his eyes narrowing and mouth twisting downward.“I have been studying in Greece for two years with one of the top Healers in the world,” said Draco. Hermione noted the rough tone of annoyance. “I have also been working at St. Mungo’s as of January of last year.”

  
As far as Hermione knew, there hadn’t been any news that Malfoy had been back in the country; much less working at the Wizarding hospital. Interestingly enough Malfoy seemed to understand her facial expression of near disbelief.

  
“Kingsley noticed that I was able to evade any mention in the Daily Prophet,” he continued. “So, he offered me this side job. The Minister said that there were frequent accidents in the department and that his signature was to serve as a witness.”

  
Hermione felt her ears go pink and frowned. “Our research is…” she paused leveling her eyes with Malfoy’s. “Peculiar.”

  
“I’m well aware, Granger,” he drawled. “Just sign the bloody paper and I won’t need to see your tasteless mug until next week.”

  
Hermione clenched her jaw; she narrowed her eyes dangerously at Malfoy. Usually, the Minister never intruded in anything that the Department of Mysteries did since their department was a special case… But Hermione trusted Shacklebolt enough to be able to abide by his appointments.

  
“Have you no manners?” Hermione said. “Here I thought we were almost civil.”

  
Draco shrugged, almost relaxing into the chair. He didn’t reply. Hermione examined him and then the parchment. She knew that if she signed it, it would be binding since it was a magical contract. Chewing on her lip she felt her steely resolve crumble. They really did need a Healer on reserve.

  
“Fine.”

  
Hermione signed her name on the parchment and watched it glow a wispy purple. The parchment rose up from her grasp and popped out of existence, most likely sent to the Ministry’s secret archives in the Department of Mysteries.

  
“If there is nothing else, I’m leaving,” said Malfoy.

  
He stood up and stalked out of her office, her door slamming so hard that her portraits and items in her office shook violently.

* * *

  
**_Later that evening..._**  
**_The Leaky Cauldron_**

 

  
“It’s not like he waltzed in there and cursed you.”

  
Ginny Weasley watched Hermione closely, who was almost through her second glass of Firewhiskey.

  
“Bloody felt like it,” Hermione all but spat out.

  
Ginny’s eyebrow twitched and she waved her wand at Hermione’s Firewhiskey, replacing it with water.

  
“O-kay! I believe it’s time for some water,” the red-headed girl said. “You need to sober up and think rationally.”

  
“Ginny!” There was nearly a whine in Hermione’s voice. “It was so hard keeping my composure.”

  
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Ginny said dryly. She was well aware of Hermione’s pension for exaggerating things after drinking Firewhiskey and how whiny she got. “It’s not like you will see him every day. You’re also the person that is least likely to get hurt up in you-know-where.” (Ginny was casually mentioning Hermione’s technical side-job.)

  
Hermione covered half of her face with one hand and groaned inwardly. Her familiar alcohol-induced headache was starting. She stood up suddenly; a dizzying feel swept her up, and she grabbed her cloak unceremoniously.

  
“I’m going home,” said Hermione. She dropped a few Sickles and Knuts on the table.

  
Ginny nodded, arms crossed protectively in front of her. “I think it’s best. Go and get some rest ‘Mione.”

  
Hermione managed a grimace of a smile and left the pub.

  
Ginny watched Hermione’s retreating back with a frown. Her friend was always worrying and she had double the work most days. Ginny sighed; she was confused as to why Hermione felt so out of touch. The curly haired girl was not acting her usual self, she seemed more doleful lately and snappish. Ginny place some money on the table and swung on her own cloak. She waved to the bartender and walked out onto the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley.

  
A chilly breeze swept through the nearly deserted alley, as Ginny ventured toward the Apparition point. The breeze held the promise of autumn as it kicked up dry leaves and Ginny’s cloak. Ginny shook her head.

Hermione was an adult; there was no reason to worry too much. Right?

* * *

  
**_Hermione’s flat_**

  
Hermione had placed a muggle movie in the DVD player and grabbed another bottle of wine. She had changed into her pajamas after a lukewarm shower and settled onto her sofa. Hermione felt fuzzy headed because she had drunk half of the wine bottle. She could still feel the raging emotions course through her as she thought of Malfoy. Hermione lifted the wine bottle up to her lips again and gulped almost all of it.

She placed it on the coffee table with force. It wasn’t their conversation that bothered her; it was the fact that he looked unscathed. Malfoy’s porcelain skin glowing healthily and he still was able to carry himself with pride. She felt a surge of bubbled up emotion in her chest that made her stomach do cold flips.

  
Envy.

  
What Hermione was feeling was envy. She cursed and fell back onto her sofa, clutching a pillow tightly. Staring at the ceiling, the world around her seemed to be swimming as she groaned aloud. All the years of taunting, resentment, suspicion, and frustration ate away at Hermione. Her eyes trailed to the nearly empty wine bottle.

  
Her flat was only illuminated by the telly, which was still running the movie. It cast shadows on her face as her thoughts trailed elsewhere. The woman wasn’t sure when her habit of drinking had started. All she knew was that it helped her not dream and didn’t make her feel out of touch with her body. (Unlike if, she drank the Potion for Dreamless Sleep.) She had an inkling the War had triggered it and her work surely did not help.

  
Not wanting to think anymore, Hermione _accio’d_ a soft blanket and stretched out on her sofa. Her cat, Crookshanks noticed Hermione drifting off into a fitful sleep and curled up at her feet.

* * *

 

_**Saturday, September 13, 2003** _  
_**Hermione’s Main Office, MOM Level 5** _  
_**Division of Magical Legal Processes** _

  
Hermione sighed for the billionth time.

  
Idly, she also wondered when her pension for sighing began. She was working on a case for one of her top clients and she was trying to make sure everything was in order for a small court meeting with a judge or two from the Wizengamot. These were low-level cases but they were important, that’s why Hermione formed the Department of Magical Legal Processes. She knew there were some people she had to fight for because they couldn’t do it themselves.  
From the mail slot in her door, a folded up memo whooshed in. It landed swiftly on the desk, unfurling from the paper airplane it resembled. Hermione put down her quill and picked it up.

_Ms. Granger,  
Please come to Level 9._

Hermione drew up her hair and circled it into a bun on the top of her head; she then grabbed her wand, muttered a Sticking Charm, and for flair, secured her bun with her wand. She glanced at her watch as she flicked her hand out to make sure to summon important documents she’d need. It was a bit past 7 o'clock as Hermione’s things floated into her bag and as she made her way to the lift across from her Department. She pressed the button and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited.

  
The air was cool it nipped at her bare forearms as Hermione trekked to her actual office. Her robes and cloak billowed out behind her as she turned left from the lift. The candles in the corridors glowed healthy amber, lighting up the doors that lined the walls every few paces. Hermione paused in front of a door with a golden plaque that read _H.J.G_. and nothing more.

She placed her hand on the door handle and waited. The door handle glowed a soft red and the door opened and Hermione stepped inside. Hermione’s office was bigger than she had anticipated once Kingsley had assigned it to her. It had a large window that overlooked the city of London, her desk sat in the far left corner with two massive bookshelves that made an L shape behind her desk. Off to the back right was a long table and cupboards and in front of her desk was a sofa with a coffee table. She was also glad that the sofa was across from a large fireplace that gave her precious heat in the cold winter months. Hermione set her bag down at her desk and eyed the parcel suspiciously.

  
On the long table was a parcel, it was about 7 centimeters all the way around. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and there was a letter next to it.  
Hermione finally ignored the parcel and yanked open the letter.

_Ms. Granger,_  
_In this parcel, you will find an old Time Turner. Our research is suggesting that it belonged to a Death Eater but they messed with it so much, that it is dangerously cursed. I am advising extreme caution. Please restore it if possible. If not destroy it. Time Turners are now extremely valuable and I am aware that you understand how they work._  
_Please keep me updated._  
_Minister of Magic,_  
_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Hermione set down the letter and slowly opened the parcel. She stared at the Time Turner that she had pulled out of the box. It looked like a regular Time Turner, nothing to differentiate itself. Except as soon as Hermione touched it, she knew, that Kingsley wasn’t warning her for laughs. The magic that seeped from it reeked of Dark Magic. She set it down carefully, scrunching up her nose in the process.

  
“Of course it would be a Time Turner,” said Hermione grumbling to herself, as she let her index finger run over the spines of books on her towering bookshelf.

  
The bookshelves in Hermione’s office reached the ceiling. On these bookshelves were every type of book one could ever dream of. Hermione at one point chuckled thinking that Madam Pince would blanch at the subjects she had on her shelf; half of them were on Dark Magic and ways to extinguish it. She pulled out several books and levitated them to the table in front of her mini sofa.  
She threw herself onto the sofa and pulled a dusty old book onto her lap, coughing and waving away the dust that clung to the book like a leech.

  
It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! I go by Na and I'm excited to start posting on this site. I don't have a beta yet, so please be kind. I hope you enjoyed this first look into my take on a Dramione-esque fic. See you next time!


	2. Too Many Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightest witch of her age.   
> This rang through her mind again, as she cast a locking charm on her office door and made her way towards the lift. Her thoughts left a bitter taste in her mouth. Another sigh escaped her lips as she pressed the down button. She sure as bloody hell didn’t feel like the brightest witch of her age.   
> Hermione was so far gone in her thoughts that she did not notice the silent figure that stood in the corner of the lift once it arrived.

_**Tuesday, September 16, 2003** _  
_**Ginny and Harry’s flat** _

* * *

 

“What time do you have to go back?”

Harry looked at the mini grandfather clock which sat in the corner of the living room-dining room area. “I have to be back before 3:00 pm.”  
She hummed in reply and leaned into Harry’s hug.

Ginny sat at her kitchen table with a variety of magazines opened in front of her. Hermione was turning 24 on September 19th and as Hermione's proclaimed girl best friend, Ginny was going to throw a party. As many knew, Ginny loved parties. Damn anyone that had the balls to get in the way of the female Weasley on a mission. The magazine’s pictures moved lively, in bright colors, models posing and dancing for the camera. The Ministry had finally been able to mess with the potion that helped the pictures move and put colors into them.

“Ginny, what’s all this?” Harry said, his mouth forming a thin line as he watched his excited girlfriend circle a variety of things in all the magazines.

“I’m planning Hermione’s party of course,” said Ginny, very assuredly. She also gestured to the mess on the table as to say,  _no shite Harry._

Harry’s eyebrows pulled up on their own accord. Ginny’s red hair bounced as she stood up and tapped her wand happily over all the pictures. Harry closed the refrigerator and opened the cold pumpkin juice bottle he retrieved. He was eyeing his girlfriend with a vague look of apprehension.

“You know she hates excessive things,” he said warily. “Hermione’s very simple.”

Ginny sent him a sharp look. Harry learned a long time to not shrink back from Ginny’s shrewd looks, it only made things worse. “Harry,” her tone was strict. “I know Hermione. It may look like a lot but I promise she’ll love it. I’ve also asked mum if we could have it at the Burrow. She was positively beside herself with happiness! Mum loves Hermione like a second daughter.”

Harry still looked skeptical as he joined Ginny at the table. “If you’re sure,” he said.

Ginny and Harry worked through Ginny’s magazines, tapping their wands on the products they wanted. Harry had finally given in, looking at the items that Ginny was ordering. It would be expensive, but Ginny was ecstatic that she could afford to throw an extravagant party that would scream Hermione. Being a Chaser on the Holyhead Harpies team allowed Ginny to help out her parents immensely and give her more Galleons than she knew what to do. Harry too was always wary of the, now very large fortune in his Vault, and did not blink an eye at spending money he knew would only accumulate more.

An owl flew into the kitchen happily doing somersaults. Pigwidgeon hooted and landed on Harry’s head. There was a letter attached to his leg, he held it out happily all the while hooting loudly. Ginny laughed at Harry’s stricken expression and reached up to untie the letter from the owl’s leg. Pig hooted and flew to the empty bird perch in the corner of the kitchen. He nipped at the snacks and dipped his beak in the water.

“I thought you would include Hermione in your party throwing extravaganzas,” said Harry, his eyes scanned the letter quickly and he stuffed it in his pocket.

“Hermione was in a foul mood. She pulled an all-nighter from Saturday till Sunday afternoon,” said Ginny, she was frowning. “Then she visited her parents and spent the last part of Sunday night sleeping and she also took Monday off from work and drank the whole day.”

Harry flinched as he helped Ginny clean up the table. He grabbed his pumpkin juice and drank half the bottle.

“Mione is for sure overworking herself,” he replied, turning the bottle absentmindedly in his hands.

Ginny had stood up and put the magazines away and leaned her hip against the kitchen counter.  
“Yeah and she’s drinking herself silly.”

The couple exchanged looks of worry. The sound of the Floo activating in their living room broke their eye contact. Seconds later Sirius Black waltzed into the kitchen, carrying a large box-y parcel.

“There’s my precious godson!” the black haired man exclaimed.

He dropped his parcel on the table and pulled Harry into an uncomfortable hug as if a snake had coiled itself around Harry.  
“Si-rius!” Harry gasped, trying to shove the man off him. “I can’t b-breathe!”

Sirius let Harry go and grinned ruffling his hair.

“What’ve you brought?” Ginny asked, peering at the large parcel.

Harry was glaring half-heartedly at his godfather.  
Sirius eyed the parcel as he sat down in a chair. “Some ancient books that were in the Grimmauld Place library. I figured that if anyone was going to get any use of them, it was Hermione.” He explained, looking very proud of himself.

“Damn Sirius, these Restricted Runes books are surely going to help with her research!” Ginny exclaimed looking into the half-opened parcel.

“Hey!” Sirius Black yelled, grabbing the parcel from her. “I had wrapped it expertly.”

Sirius coddled his torn parcel with a sad, mournful look on his face. He set to work with his wand, muttering curses under his breath as he fixed it up.  
Harry rolled his eyes at the pair while putting dishes away. He secretly loved having Sirius and Ginny bicker. It formed a warm seed in the pit of his stomach that he wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt while growing up. Yes, the Weasley family felt as though they were his own family. But Sirius came very close to being Harry’s foster father and Ginny, well he had hopeful plans for life with Ginny.  
At this point in his life, Harry finally felt okay.

Ginny let out an unladylike snort. “HA, I’m not sure what type of expert you are.” She rolled her eyes and Sirius glared at her.

As his godfather and girlfriend bickered, worry for Hermione thumped at the back of his mind. Harry knew that Hermione was terrible at self-care. She was always caring for others and forgetting herself, she was the shining definition of self-less. He glanced at Ginny who was brandishing her wand at Sirius with a mocking face. Harry waved his wand at the rest of the dishes and magicked them away into the cupboards.

“Maybe getting Hermione tickets to my game in October can help her relax,” Ginny said, placing herself on a kitchen stool, across from Harry. Ginny gave up teasing Sirius and eyed Harry as he dried his hands on a towel. “You know she always liked watching us play.”

Harry shrugged and grabbed his forgotten bottle of cold pumpkin juice. “There’s a chance, but she’s still overworking herself,” he said straightening up, finishing off his pumpkin juice, and glancing at his wristwatch. “I’ll owl you a list and ideas that could help cheer Hermione up. I have to head back to school because my class starts soon.”

Harry walked around the counter and pulled Ginny into a hug and kissed her temple.  
“I’ll see you this weekend love.” Ginny grinned squeezing her boyfriend back.

Harry levitated his teaching robes on and grabbed his briefcase. “See you Gin.” He smiled and nodded at Sirius. “Ready?”

Sirius messed with Ginny’s hair and climbed into the fireplace, shouting Harry’s Hogwarts office in the process. She pouted and glared at the dark-haired man. Harry watched as his godfather was taken away through the Floo Network and then pulled Ginny into a proper goodbye kiss.

Minutes later, Harry shook his robes free of Floo powder soot as he stepped out of his office fireplace and immediately raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who had raided Harry’s personal (warded and locked) away cupboard of liquor.

“This Firewhiskey is divine.” Sirius all but groaned in delight. He nursed the tumbler close to his chest. “Where in Merlin’s name did you get this?”

Harry shrugged, striding over to his desk. He shuffled around and grabbed the stack of graded Defense Against the Dark Arts assignments on rolled up parchment.

“A gift at one of those benefit dinners,” Harry replied flippantly and looked at his watch again. He had five minutes before students would start shuffling into his classroom downstairs. “Now, Sirius, what did you want to tell me before class begins?”

Sirius frowned setting down the tumbler and stood up. He straightened out his clothes and helped Harry collect the rest of his materials.  
“Yes, well the Minister told me they are watching a certain individual…” Sirius said, stroking the hair on his chin absentmindedly. “Apparently there’s something odd going on with the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries and they’re speculating that one of the Unspeakables did something they weren’t supposed to.”

Harry’s eyebrows pulled tautly and he watched his step as they headed down the stairs from his office to his classroom. He had a teacher’s table in the corner of the classroom, where he had three baskets that collected coursework.

Harry mulled over the thoughts of his best friend, as Sirius spoke of the Department of Mysteries. He also wondered when in Merlin’s name he became such a worrywart. Though, not surprisingly as he placed down his stack of parchment rolls and books, the Auror life did not fit with Harry’s need to help others. Hermione always commented offhandedly that Harry had a hero complex. Helping and teaching the youngsters felt so natural to Harry.

‘I just want a normal life,” Harry told Hermione a year the war. Because everything in their lives now revolved Prewar and Postwar days. It was sad, disheartening, and bloody depressing. Harry could see that Hermione’s strengthen was crumbling. He wasn’t sure how much longer she would last with a front only he and her very close friends knew about. Hell, Harry wasn’t even sure that Ron knew that Hermione had minimal self-confidence.  
Harry blamed the fact that her best friends were a pair of boys and a girl that had six brothers.

Hermione had smiled, a very grim smile at Harry in response to his confession.  
_‘Oh, Harry, you will get one,’_ she said, placing her small hand on top of his. Harry had strangely seen so much confidence swimming in her wide, doe-like eyes, in that moment that he was inclined to believe her words. _‘You deserve it more than anyone.’_

Four years later, Harry wondered where the confidence in Hermione’s eyes had gone, even if it was only for a split second.

“Harry, bloody hell son.” Sirius thumped Harry’s back with a hand. “You weren’t listening to me at all. Where’s your sense of adventure mate?”

Harry scoffed, flicking his wand and distributing the parchment rolls into the square cubbies that were at the back of his large, spacious classroom. “As a professor, Sirius, I don’t get to have a sense of adventure,” he said and shot Sirius a condescending look. “I had enough adventure for about 7 years, thankyouverymuch.”

Sirius crossed his arms and shot Harry a deadpan look. “So, the Unspeakable business doesn’t strike your fancy, at all?”

Harry paused his organizing and tilted his head a bit. Sirius was giving him a look that reminded him of a wet dog. “If you don’t take that barmy look off your face I shall do it for you,” said Harry waving his wand at Sirius, who only deepened his pout. “Sirius, I will be out of a job and you may or may not end up sleeping with the Giant Squid tonight.”

This time Sirius glared at Harry and pushed off from where he was leaning against Harry’s desk. He sighed and combed his fingers through his wavy, ink coloured mane he called hair. In all the years that Harry had now gotten to know Sirius, his hair continued to stay long and free. Sometimes it was pulled into a topknot bun that Ginny teased the Black about. Harry absentmindedly tugged at a strand of hair that escaped his own ponytail.

“Harry,” Sirius said, this time there was no humor in his voice. Harry put his wand away and watched his godfather warily. “The Death Chamber isn’t something to mess around with… I know Hermione runs that Department, but I can’t help but worry. If the rumors are true then we must tread lightly on this situation.”

Harry nodded sighing as he leaned his back on his desk. “Yeah, I’m aware.” He inclined his head slightly and crossed his arms. “I know we’re privy to this situation because of our history and Hermione, but I trust Hermione to deal with her Department.”

Sirius nodded in agreement, his expression matching Harry’s somber one.

“Professor Potter!”

“Ah, duty calls,” Harry straightened up and placed a smile on his face. “Ready Sirius?”

His godfather laughed, a barking loud laugh that vibrated through Harry’s empty classroom. “Sure, anything for you Harry.” Sirius squeezed Harry’s arm before letting himself fall into his Animagus form.

Sirius watched as Harry greeted his students with a bright smile and snarky remarks. The Black can tell that the students are still fascinated with Harry and are genuinely excited to come to class.

_“You guys would be so proud of your son,”_ Sirius' thoughts drift to a certain James and Lily Potter.

* * *

 

**_Many hours later that same day..._ **

  
Hermione was tinkering away again at the Time Turner. She had a broken through four curses so far. She pushed herself away from the magnifying glass stand. Hermione sat up straight and her spine cracked in a few places as she did so. The clock in the corner, signaling the turn of the hour, dinged twelve times. She glanced a the time and sighed. It was already one in the morning and it would only get later if she continued working.

She took her wand and cast a protection charm over the Time Turner. Her back cracked once more as she stood up to grab her belongings. Hermione let out a breath she had been holding in and loosened her hair, her curls breaking free from their confines. Breaking curses depleted a lot of her magical and regular energy. She had been working since early morning that day and she was surprised to learn that her magical energy had lasted so long.  
Brightest witch of her age.

This rang through her mind as she cast a locking charm on her office door and made her way towards the lift. Her thoughts left a bitter taste in her mouth. Another sigh escaped her lips as she pressed the down button. She sure as bloody hell didn’t feel like the brightest witch of her age.

Hermione was so far gone in her thoughts that she did not notice the silent figure that stood in the corner of the lift once it arrived. She fiddled with her wand nervously in her hand, this was a habit she had formed while her, Harry, and Ron had been searching for Horcruxes. The four curses had been very long and complicated. Hermione had been interrupted at least five times before she broke through three curses. She was also sure that her hair was burnt at the edges because of the backlash that came with breaking powerful curses. She knew she now had to attempt to break the curses with runes, and that came with its own set of complications and extensive research. Research which she did not mind, but runic curse breaking was very taxing on the body.

Hermione nearly sagged against the elevator wall, she had exhausted herself even further with the prospect of fixing the Time Turner.  
Hermione wondered when her motivation for her work was swept away.

The sound of someone clearing their throat sent Hermione’s pulse soaring and she nearly leaped out of her skin in fright. She spun, wide-eyed, wand pointing, and a spell ready at her lips. Her wand landed at the tip of Malfoy’s Adam’s apple in a matter of seconds.

“Hullo Granger.” Malfoy eyed her contemplatively as if her wand was not inches away from his person.

She sent him a withering glare, not lowering her wand. “I could’ve maimed you, Malfoy.” Hermione’s voice was firm but lacked any venom, exhaustion, and annoyance was laced into her words.

Malfoy stared at her, his features not giving away his thoughts. “Then do put that blasted thing away before you magick off an appendage,” he said quirking an eyebrow.

Hermione made a noise at the back of her throat but nevertheless lowered the wand slowly. The lift continued to slowly descend as the two of them stared at one another. The slow hum of the lift gears working in a rhythm that almost soothed Hermione’s rapidly beating pulse.

“I wasn’t aware that you were fond of giving unsuspecting people a fright,” she finally said.

Something akin to humor danced in Malfoy’s slate eyes. Hermione chalked it off to the dim lighting in the lift.

Malfoy lifted his shoulders to resemble a shrug. “Scaring unsuspecting muggleborns is my specialty.”

If Hermione hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought that he had been joking with her.

Hermione shifted her stance and crossed her arms. She regarded him astutely and they ended up having a staring contest. Neither wanted to break eye contact first, their stubbornness was nearly enough to burn a wide hole through each of them. Hermione thought it was very childish of them, but she did not grace Malfoy with a reply.

“Uh, Mione?”

Hermione and Malfoy didn’t realize that the lift had come to a stop until someone broke their staring contest. She turned around and came face to face with a Weasley twin.

“Fred!” Hermione’s features shifted from a firm scowl to a pleasant smile. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her shift in mood. She hadn’t been smiling when he first saw her step into the lift.

“Hullo,” the Weasley said, suspicion wiped clean from his face.

Hermione stepped out of the lift along with Malfoy and gave Fred a welcoming hug.  
“You’re back from America! How was it? Did you bring me back anything?” Hermione spit fired questions, as she usually did. Hermione figured that it was better not to worry any of her people.

Fred smiled at her and produced a package from the satchel he was gripping in one hand.  
“Why of course I brought you back something. Your birthday is in a few days, so I decided that I’d find you and give it to you,” he said, handing her a wrapped gift. “I found it in Wizarding San Francisco, I hope you like it.”

Hermione took it and hugged the Weasley again. She placed it in her messenger bag (magically expanded) and stepped away from Fred.  
“Thank you Fred, I’m excited to open it,” she said. “Did you just arrive, it is quite late.”

He nodded, glancing quickly at Malfoy who stood a few feet away from them.  
“Yeah, da just wanted something from his office, even though it’s late,” replied Fred. “We also figured that you would be here. So I was also on my way to give you your present, in case I didn’t see you later.”

“Of course.” Hermione’s grin was a bit too forced. “I’ll let you get on it then,” Hermione said stepping out of the way and her mouth tugging slightly up at the corner. “Have a goodnight Fred.”

“You too, Mione…” Fred responded as he stepped into the lift. He frowned at the scene before him as the lift doors closed. How much had he missed while he had been away? Malfoy and Hermione on speaking terms?

Hermione’s smile dropped from her features as soon as Fred disappeared and she started to walk down the corridor to the Apparition point. All she wanted was to get home and get in bed, except there was one issue.

“You’re still around, huh.” A Malfoy was that issue.

Malfoy sent her a guarded look. “What’s in the package the Weasel gave you?”

“Why are you so curious?” said Hermione, affronted.

He shrugged as he fell into step with her. Hermione resisted gritting her teeth together. He was just trying her patience and rousing her temper. It was probably on purpose.

“Just wondering if it’ll be detrimental to your health.”

Hermione stopped her quick pace and stared at the blond. “Excuse me?” Her voice raised a few decibels.

“Gesundheit,” Malfoy replied smoothly, easily ignoring Hermione's irritation.

They had arrived in the part of the Ministry’s Atrium where Apparating was allowed. Along with the two of them, there were only two night guardwizards and a circulation desk witch. A stale breeze blew through the empty Atrium ruffling Hermione’s skirt. The re-done Fountain of Magical Brethren sparkled in the dim light of the Atrium as Hermione looked around and then looked back at Malfoy.

“I wasn’t aware that you liked joking around,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, her hands perched on her hips.

He shrugged and stepped closer to her. Malfoy’s eyes dragged along her body, a calculating look thinly veiled. Hermione felt almost nervous as he stared at her.  
“I find it intriguing that you’re the Head of the Department of Mysteries and my technical boss…” he said.

Hermione took two steps back into the Apparition point. Her eyes trained on the calculating Malfoy. He looked too interested in her, which did not sit well with her and her frayed nerves. Just four days ago Malfoy had looked at her as if the last place he wanted to be was near her. This sudden interest in her was unnerving.

“Have a goodnight Malfoy,” Hermione said before she disappeared with a loud _purposeful_ crack.

Malfoy’s right eye twitched in annoyance at the noise.

That Granger…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any grammatical mistakes. I'll edit them as I re-read through the chapters.  
> Thank you for reading!


	3. The Universe Never Gives Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure enough, it was Malfoy. His blond hair, regal walk, and distinct facial features made him an easy target to spot. Except...Hermione all but dropped her mug on the table, Malfoy was wearing Muggle clothes! Her mouth fell open as he stopped in front of a shop across the street and waved to someone inside. He was smiling pleasantly while opening the shop door and strolling in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! And please let me know what you think. I am very much open to any constructive criticism and lovely comments!

**_Thursday, September 18, 2003_ **

**_Central London_ **

* * *

“No.”

“ _Hermione._ ”

“Bloody, _no_! How hard is it for you to understand?”

Hermione looked affronted as Harry gave her his best ‘I’m in trouble, please help me’ look. She had long gotten over the Potter charms and moved past it with stride. Or so she thought...

Harry let out a huff and crossed his arms as if he was twelve years old again. Hermione purposefully rolled her eyes.

“I don’t understand why you won’t do this favor for me…”

Hermione scrunched her nose. “I’m not good with children.”

“Bollocks!”

Harry had yelled and nearly spilled all of his coffee onto Hermione, but luckily for him and his appendages, it only created a mildly small puddle.

“Her _mione_ , it’s only for a week and honestly, you love Ancient Runes,” he said, mopping up the small puddle of coffee with a wad of napkins.

“Ancient Runes, Harry?” Her voice was crisp with confusion. Hermione’s hand wrapped around her own mug, which had been safe from Harry’s exclamation. “I thought you were trying to find someone to fill an absence on your behalf.”

Harry shook his head taking a long sip of his lukewarm coffee, wisps of black hair escaped his topknot. “No,” he said swallowing his drink. “It’s for our Professor who’s leaving for a conference this weekend and next week in America. She’ll be back next Friday…” He gave her a wiry look. “I’m sure Shacklebolt would be fine with you taking a week off from work. Fuck, I think your _whole_ office would be more than happy to see you take a break. It can also count as professional development. Plus, Madam Pince wouldn’t mind you sifting through Hogwarts’ Restricted Section.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly at her.

Hermione didn’t laugh but gripped her mug harder. She opened her mouth to form another excuse. “But the Time–”

Harry shook his head again, cutting her off firmly.

“It’ll stay cursed Mione and c’mon you love Hogwarts.”

Hermione always had an inkling that the Hogwarts library’s Restricted Section was bigger than she had previously observed. She swirled the remaining coffee in her mug and chewed contemplatively on her bottom lip. Harry did have a point, ever since she started working at the Ministry she hadn’t taken any of her holiday leaves, only sick leaves. Teaching would technically be called a work leave since she would be a guest lecturer at Hogwarts. It also fit perfectly with her research and other research topics that the Unspeakables were working on, and her Legal Processes office would receive benefit from Hermione teaching intermittently at her alma mater.

Besides, Hermione didn’t have to worry about her Legal Processes office. It ran really well with her Vice Head spearheading most of the cases and the office in Hermione’s numerous absences. Hermione was primarily there to make sure the sensitive cases were handled properly, the office didn’t completely crumble and fall to shit and put the proper people where they needed to be.

These days the Department of Mysteries was getting most of her attention. She bordered on obsessive with her little project and the research that was being done in her secretive department.

“You know I hate you and wish that the Giant Squid would drown you.” Hermione sent Harry her most infuriating glare.

Harry cackled a laugh that garnered the dirty looks from some patrons around them.

The two best friends were nestled in a small cafe in the middle of Muggle London. The Muggle world felt more welcoming than the Wizarding one, Muggles lived blissfully unaware of the workings of the other world that was hidden away expertly. Harry and Hermione found the cafe months after the war to escape the media and the hecticness of their bizarre world. It was easier to hide away among the Muggles that didn’t care to know who they were. They had monthly best friend dates at their cafe.

On the other hand, the cafe they frequented was owned by a rugged looking gentleman, in his late 30s whose name was Mervyn Branigan. The gentleman owned a countless number of beanies, vests, and had tattoos running the length of his arms. Mervyn had early on, confessed that he was a Squib after he glimpsed Hermione’s small wrist tattoo of a cat move and curl itself into a ball, as he was closing shop.

‘ _That’s a runic tattoo.’_ It was a simple statement enough to send Hermione’s heart rate into a tizzy and Harry laughing madly at his best friend. Mervyn had stopped at their table to grab their empty plates and mugs. _‘I know because my brother has a shite ton of ‘em.’_

He then gave them a happy account of his wizarding background; which in fact traced nearly to Merlin himself, and how he was always fascinated with magic, but never really got to experience it fully. Mervyn was always giving Hermione and Harry interesting Magical History lessons, thoroughly surpassing Professor Binns’ boring lessons, and telling them stories of his crazy family.

It was safe to say that they went back to the cafe more times than they cared to remember. The cafe was also, aptly, named Camelot Cafe and it was nestled on the east corner of Melcombe St. and Baker Street. (Mervyn also had a fascination with the Arthurian history, which led to him naming his cafe as such.) Hermione noted that the coffee Mervyn served, had a hint of something that was nearly magical. The curly haired witch guessed that with the owner and his penchant for things that bordered on magic, the coffee might’ve had extra things infused to enhance flavours.

“Hey…” Hermione looked up from her mug. Harry was looking out of the window to his left. “Is that Malfoy?”

Hermione felt nostalgia hit as she thought of the summer before Sixth Year when Harry had uttered very similar words. She craned her neck and looked where Harry was attempting to bore holes into.

Sure enough, it was Malfoy. His blond hair, regal walk, and distinct facial features made him an easy target to spot. Except...Hermione all but dropped her mug on the table, Malfoy was wearing Muggle clothes! Her mouth fell open as he stopped in front of a shop across the street and waved to someone inside. He was _smiling_ pleasantly while opening the shop door and strolling in. Malfoy had been wearing dark wash jeans with a navy blue parka, a pair of dark brown loafers, and a brown scarf. Hermione let the image sink into her brain as she processed what had just happened.

“What the shite.” Harry looked as gobsmacked as Hermione felt. “What the _fuck_ is Malfoy doing walking around Muggle London?”

Her eyes traced over the shop and her eyes stopped at the name. _Antiqui Libri._ The words were in Latin, but as Hermione read, the title shifted, the words blurring and rearranging themselves. It now read _The Apothecary and Ancient Books of Time, History, and Magic Shop._

She was floored at the revelation of the shop. The words shifting and changing were something else that Hermione hadn’t seen with Wizarding shops.

“I–”

“No, you know what, don’t even say it. I swear that shop has your name written all over it.” Harry had his arms crossed and a tight look on his face; she was reminded that maybe in a different life, Harry would’ve made a wonderful Auror. He had a presence that screamed ‘I know what you’re up to and you can’t get away with it.’ Hermione knew that he could also be a very intimidating bloke when wanted to be. I guess defeating one of the worst Dark wizards in the history of dark wizards did that to a man. Harry had also filled into his gangly skinny body since they left Hogwarts. His skin was now a darker shade of caramel because he liked to spend a lot of time in the sun, his glasses were still round as ever, but they fit his face much better, he had a short beard and frequently wore his hair in a bun.

Hermione looked at Harry wide-eyed, this man knew her too well. She almost managed to look sheepish after the shock that coursed through her and polished off her coffee.

Honestly, sometimes tea didn’t have the strongest amount of caffeine to satisfy Hermione.

“Alright, Sherlock Holmes.” Hermione shook her head. “You got me…”

“That shopped opened about seven months ago.” A voice broke the 2/3rds of the Golden Trio from their blatant staring out the window. Mervyn grinned at them, picking up their empty mugs in the process. “The shop owner is American and her husband is British, they’re also wizards, but strange ones.” Mervyn eyed the shop across the street with a strange look and he flittered away.

“How in Circe’s name?” Harry uttered staring at Mervyn who was whistling and cleaning the bar counter happily. Mervyn’s dark hair was pulled into a low curly ponytail and his earring stud glinted in the artificial light.

Hermione shook her head. She had her suspicions of Mervyn’s Squib-hood… The woman took another look at the shop, interest piquing at the corners of her mind. She hadn’t been adventurous in a long time. Hermione also didn’t fancy going back to the Time Room, which looked chaotic and her curse breaking was going abso- _fucking_ -lutely nowhere.

“Hey, Mervyn!” Hermione called to the cafe owner. He looked up and wrung his hands on a towel.

“Ay, Hermione?” He still had a handsome smile on his face.

“What’re their names?” she asked, tilting her head in the direction of the bookshop.

“Willoughby is their surname,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

Hermione hummed in response and stood up. She pulled out her debit card because of course, she was always prepared wherever she went.

“Thanks, Merv.” She grinned handing him the plastic.

Mervyn nearly frowned as he took her card and walked to the register. Harry joined her as she followed the cafe owner.

“Mione? What’s it?”

Mervyn handed Hermione her card back and took Harry’s tenner. She gave Harry a secret smile and walked to the exit.

“Bye Merv! See you.” Hermione waved and pushed the exit door open. The cool, biting, fall breeze swept up her clothes and hair. She had chosen to wear ballet flats, black slacks, a loose white long sleeved blouse, with a long grey cape-coat. It was getting colder by the day and Hermione revelled in the cold that was making itself home in London.

“Mione! Your secretary’s surname is Willoughby, there’s a relation there,” Harry said as they trekked down the sidewalk to the crosswalk at the end of the block. 

She hugged her frame from the biting cold. “Of course! I’m guessing that the owners are Lis’ parents. I’ve always wanted to meet them.”

Harry looked disturbingly pensive as they crossed the street with the flashing crosswalk lights. His head swiveled to look at the alleyway next to the shop. “There’s an Apparition point right there.”

Hermione stopped next to Harry and nodded silently and then kept walking to the shop. Harry had always felt awkward around Lisbet because she was constantly ogling him. Hermione was also sure that Harry didn’t want to meet the girls family.

“Bloody hell Mione, you’re not going to walk in there.”

She whirled around to face him, Harry stopped abruptly to not bump into her.

“I very well will, because Lis never shuts up about how wonderful her family is and I’m informed that they dabble in a very different type of magic than we do.”

Harry stayed rooted to the spot where he was, near the alleyway. “Well, Mione, I have to get back to school,” he said. “It’s almost one.”

Hermione paused and inclined her head at him. “Alright, Harry.” she smiled. “I’ll owl you.”

Harry grinned and waltzed into the alleyway. Hermione chuckled as she heard Harry’s faint pop of his Disapparation and walked to the door of the mysterious shop.

There were various aromas of spices, dried flowers, and vials of several mysterious liquids, littered all over the shop. Rows of old tattered books lined almost all of the walls and the numerous bookshelves. The shop reminded Hermione of an Apothecary shop crossed with the Potions classroom at Hogwarts as she stepped inside. Hermione walked slowly into the shop and let her eyes adjust to the yellow hue the shop was encased in. Hermione was floored with curiosity that this shop wasn’t located in Diagon Alley. It looked exactly like a wizarding shop. Hermione wondered what the shop looked like to muggles.

“Hello!” Hermione looked up, startled from where she was examining a vial that looked strangely like the Draught of Living Death. She hadn’t heard a chime when she walked inside. An older woman, who had dark auburn hair in a shoulder length cut and sharp pointed features descended, almost dramatically down a spiral staircase on the right side at the back of the shop. She wore an olive green wrap dress with beige kitten heels, her yellow eyes held a warmth that made Hermione’s head slightly fuzzy. The woman’s smile was very kind and welcoming. “Miss Granger, it is lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Hermione set her lips in a thin line, the woman very closely resembled her bubbly secretary, and Hermione was no longer surprised that the woman knew who she was. The whole bleeding Wizarding Britain knew who she was. The woman’s accent was distinctly American, very similar to Lisbet’s, but her words felt as though they held much meaning. Hermione had pictured someone else as Lis’ mother, not a woman that reminded her of a siren.

However, Hermione glanced around Antiqui Libri again Harry had been correct in saying that the shop had Hermione’s name written all over it. The books and _magic_ that seemed to bleed from the shop called Hermione’s fancy as soon as she laid eyes on it. Plus, Malfoy had waltzed into the shop with a smile on his face. Hermione was now 100% suspicious of Lis’ family.

_Shite’s not normal._ Hermione placed herself on mild alert.

“My name is Andrea Willoughby and I knew you’d be stopping by someday,” the woman continued, as Hermione wasn’t able to get any word in other than a great imitation of a haughty Slytherin. “Lisbet has spoken of you and your courage many times.”

“Ah,” Hermione said, as the woman sauntered over to the main counter of the shop. Hermione cleared her throat and steeled her features. “I honestly shouldn’t be surprised,” she finally said. “Lis said that her family was different than most and what _luck_ I discovered your shop.”

The woman smiled pleasantly, clasping her hands in front of her, resting them on the counter. “Fate is peculiar that way… What can I do for you, Miss Granger?”

Hermione chewed her lip and looked around turning her head slowly, as to not raise suspicion. She didn’t spot Malfoy anywhere. “Uhm, I saw someone I know walk in here,” she said. “I also found our connection through Mervyn Branigan, Camelot Cafe’s owner.”

Mrs. Willoughby’s eyes glinted with a secret. “Mervyn is a very bright young man,” she said. “He helped set my shop up.”

Hermione smiled. “But to get to the point, I was being curious and didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Ah, no harm dear. Go ahead and look around. You may find what you’re looking for.” Mrs. Willoughby chuckled and seemingly glided away.

_So strange…_ Hermione eyed the lady, but her eyes trained on the bookshelves that littered the shop in rows. She preened at the books before her, there were so many!  

Hermione’s thoughts raced as she browsed the rows with fervour. Maybe, just maybe she would find more information to help the Unspeakable’s latest research… It was no surprise that the books completely took Hermione’s attention. Two hours later, in which Hermione should have been back in her office, there was a stack of books floating behind her, as she approached the shelves near the back of the shop. The books had begun floating on their own accord, Hermione figured that they were charmed to do so, meaning the shop she was currently in most likely repelled Muggles from looking twice.

The deeper the brunette walked into the shop more books seemed to appear and their topics got darker and the books misbehaved more. A countless number of books shook, shot sparks, pages disappeared, words shuffled themselves, and some attempted to bite Hermione’s fingers off. The petite lady shuffled through the rows, sometimes tapping her wand on titles that kindled her fancy.

Hermione nearly tripped over herself when she noticed a tuft of stark blond hair sticking out from the last row of bookshelves. The levitating stack of books nearly toppled over at her abrupt pause. The aisle of books that Hermione spotted Malfoy in came before the back wall of the shop. Plush armchairs were strategically placed in a semicircle near the back wall and there was currently one chair halfway into where Malfoy was.

Hermione chewed on her lip as she twirled her wand in one hand and stared a hole into a book in front of her. She had stopped herself before any noise had been made on her part and was now hiding out in a row that she hadn’t gone into. The book rattled slightly as Hermione kept staring, contemplating whether or not to approach the figure in the armchair.

_Gryffindor courage Hermione!_ A part of her yelled that yearned to start a pleasant conversation with Malfoy.

But once again to reiterate Hermione’s emotional state as of late, her emotions were not in check. She was number one, _weirded the fuck out_ by Malfoy’s peculiar interest in her and number two, the envy of Malfoy’s finesse clawed mercilessly at the corners of her mind made a heavy lump in her throat. It had been a very long time since she had slept properly in her bed and Hermione’s pride bristled at the thought of Malfoy spotting her envy, or whatever else emotion that decided to show itself. Though, envy was a dangerous companion.

_Why can’t my life be_ normal? Hermione gritted her teeth and glared at the stupid book that wouldn’t stop rattling. If only she could move past her immature feel–

“Have you no decency?”

Hermione nearly leaped out of her skin in shock. She swiveled, facing Malfoy. Her eyes trailed immediately to his bare forearms on display, due to his gray button-up shirt which had been rolled up at the sleeves. There was no trace of the Dark Mark anywhere, which was information that Hermione shuffled away to examine at a later date. 

“What?” Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell Granger, I’m here thinking that you _care_ about not disturbing others around books.” He looked very affronted, his chest was puffed out indignantly. “Simply don’t gawk at these books, they will attack you, you bint.” A beat of silence. “Now, why are you following me.”

Hermione literally had nothing to say. She tried to say something but nothing came out.

_Silencing charm?_ She cleared her throat. _Nope, just Hermione being a fuck up._

Somehow whenever shock entered her system, Hermione lost the ability to process situations, possibly a side effect of being around Malfoy. Which, dear readers, did not happen often with the former Gryffindor.

Malfoy, on the other hand, became noticeably uncomfortable as she stared at him. Hermione’s wide knowing eyes blinking up at him. He shuffled slightly, tightening up his crossed arms but seconds ticked by before she said anything. His eyes darkened with suspicion.

Hermione crossed her own arms in response, tucking her wand neatly into her right hand.

“Hm,” she said. “Civility really doesn’t seem to be your strong suit.”

Malfoy’s eyes seemed to darken considerably at her droll response.

“What the fuck _,_ Granger.”

“Quit  _bitching_ Malfoy, I don’t have to answer you,” Hermione spat out and shoved past him. Somehow Malfoy fueled the part of her that caused her to curse like a drunk or peeved Ginny. She heard his low groan of frustration as she ventured to the back of the shop.

“I was here first Granger, so I ask, what do you want from me and why. Are. You. Following me?” He took three long strides before he was in front of her again. She took a whiff of his expensive cologne and gripped her wand harder, blue sparks momentarily fizzled from it. He stepped even closer to her, dangerously veering into her personal bubble.

Hermione counted to five, glaring at Malfoy. Yup, being around him really pricked at her nerves. All thoughts of niceties flew out the window as soon as he opened his mouth. She wanted to be civil. She really did, but his too regal posture, almost intentionally messy hair, and Muggle clothes stirred something positively dangerous within Hermione.

_Oh, fuck no._ This was not something she wanted to confront. At that moment Hermione wished that she could not have ventured into the dodgy slash magic slash apothecary shop.

“Bugger off Malfoy, I am here for my own interests.” A mild white lie. Her books still floated demurely behind her. "It is our day off, so if you don't mind."

Malfoy looked disbelieving. He glared at her. “You’re lying.”

The Fates were really testing her patience and her lack of escape skills. Hermione would’ve Apparated but there were wards in place. It was also rude to Apparate from inside stores and she really wanted to buy the books she had grabbed.

Hermione glared at Malfoy. She was feeling an emotion that one could only describe as a mixture of regret and resignation.

_Bloody oxymoronic._ She thought, sulkily.

“Why do you care?” Hermione gave him an expectant look, cocking her hip and placing her left hand on it.

“By Merlin, Granger.” He said curling his lips. “I do not care, I am just privy to my privacy.”

“Then, by all means, do continue with your privacy.”

Hermione turned from Malfoy and walked in the opposite direction from where he had been sitting. She cursed her inability to actually form proper sentences that didn’t sound stupid around Malfoy.

“ _Granger_.” How her name sounded like an insult on his lips would forever baffle her.

“What?” She stopped and crossed her arms.

Malfoy advanced and once again blocked her path. She had to look up at him to make eye contact. “I abhor going in circular conversations.” For a Malfoy, he looked positively livid.

Hermione quirked her mouth into a semi-smirk. “Tragic.”

His eyes flashed dangerously at her and a challenge spiked through her.

“Would you any of you care for a cup o’ tea?”

The two–still rivals– rounded their glare on the newcomer. It was an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair with black-rimmed square glasses. He had a handsome and deep voice that had broken Malfoy and Hermione’s staring contest. Which apparently they did quite often with each other. Malfoy’s glare fell away and his face transformed into a pleasant, neutral look.

Hermione was momentarily blown away by how young and mildly attractive he looked.

Alright, alright, he looked more than just  _mildly attractive._ Malfoy looked as though he stepped out of a Witch Weekly Wizard of the Year magazine photoshoot. His face, which was usually sneering at everyone and everything, drastically did a 180.

Hermione looked from Malfoy to the gentleman and inclined her head.

“That’s alright, I was just headed to ring these up,” she said, placing a hesitant smile on her lips.

The gentleman nodded, also smiling at her. “I’m Lewis Willoughby, please do come back.”

“Ta, Mr. Willoughby.” She replied and quickly skirted around the wizards and made a beeline, her books now flying behind her to the front counter. “Bye now!”

“So, how’ve you been my boy?” Hermione heard Mr. Willoughby ask Malfoy.

She shook her head and ignored them. Her curiosity had already bested her once that day.

It was the second time that she and Malfoy had been interrupted, so Hermione figured that her luck was running on a very short leash. Usually, Hermione liked to “Gryffindor” her way through problems and confront them head-on. But this time, the situation felt more precarious than normal.

Somehow, Hermione had gotten on Malfoy’s radar. She felt as though she was a puzzle he was trying to piece together. Hermione shuddered at the thought. She didn’t want anyone figuring her out. _Much less bloody Malfoy…_  

Oh no, Draco Malfoy was not someone to easily confront. Hermione would have to tread very, very, carefully.

* * *

**_Friday, September 19, 2003_ **

 

Very loud music, the smell of mouth-watering food, and the joyous sound of laughter drifted from the Weasley family’s longtime home, the Burrow. It was 7 o’clock in the evening and Hermione was standing on a small hill that gave her a view to the Burrow. The home looked alive, rambunctious, and filled with happiness. Since the end of the war, the Burrow had been filled with even more laughter than Hermione could ever dream up.

The Weasley’s had been nearly in constant celebration since ‘98, they nearly had a simultaneous heartbreak that would have shattered the lovingly large family. Fred had pulled through from the coma his body had put him in after he had been caught in an explosion outside of the Room of Requirement. Percy since that day, had rarely been seen away from him. Hermione was slightly scared to wonder what George’s reaction would’ve been if Fred had died.

Hermione shook her head, banishing the doleful thoughts. Ginny had said that her mum was throwing a nice dinner with the family and that _‘Hermione is forever welcome!’_ She sighed and started forward down the path to the Burrow. It was honestly now or never. She knew herself. Hermione would simply Apparate back to her small flat, eat and drink an ungodly amount of ice cream and cheap wine, and fall asleep on her sofa.

_When did I become so pathetic?_ Hermione frowned as she raised her hand to knock on the large wooden door.

“Hermione!” The twins shouted as they answered the door. “Happy Birthday!”

She stepped back in mild surprise at the exclamation. _Of course, it was a birthday party for her._

“Fucking get in here Hermione!” That was a tipsy Ginny yelling.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley!” In which Molly Weasley hated that her children said obscenities. "I shall not have you cussing under my roof!"

Hermione smiled tightly as the twins dragged her further into the Weasley’s home.

“Happy Birthday Hermione!” Harry, who had been sitting with Ginny, came and gave her a tight hug.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said, a small grateful smile on her lips.

Molly bounded over to her happily and pulled Hermione into a motherly hug.

“Happy Birthday dear! Dinner's almost ready and I made your favorite.” The Weasley matron bopped Hermione on the nose with a finger and bounced away into the kitchen.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. The Weasley’s were really something else.

A banner that read _‘Happy Birthday Hermione!’_ had been magicked to float above the fireplace in the living room and flashed confetti around the bubbly letter. An old rendition of the Weird Sisters’ popular song was playing in a very old grahamaphone in the corner of the living room. The aromas of a home cooked meal permeated the air thickly as everyone did their rounds with warm hugs and cheek kisses to their beloved curly haired bossy, know-it-all. A knot tied itself in Hermione’s stomach after she settled on the couch next to a tipsy Ginny and a very excited George, telling her about his time in India and the wizarding University he had been taking summer classes from.

Hermione also cooed and watched Bill and Fleur’s kids as they played with Arthur on the floor of the living room and slept. At five years old, Victorie was already the spitting image of her mother, with an adorable baby face and if you squinted you could see freckles that littered the small bridge of her nose. Dominique, their second daughter, was three years old, and she walked around as if she owned the place. She pulled at Arthur’s fading red hair with a loud giggle. The couple also had their youngest in a bundle, huddled against Fleur. Louis, their only boy, slept soundly among the loudness of the living room. No doubt a silencing charm bubble had been placed around sleeping Louis.

The knot in her stomach was from the fact that she had been unintentionally (read intentionally) avoiding the Weasley family. Her heart swelled as she took in her surroundings. A tinge of wistfulness hit her. She and Ron had parted mutually after the war. They both focused so much energy on their careers, Hermione as a litigator to the outside world, and Ron as an Auror, that they had drifted apart. After their relationship ended, she dove head first into work and didn’t actually breathe until as of late.

Hermione didn’t realize that she missed being around a family so much.

She thought to her parents, who had their thriving practice, and her father who was still recovering from his heart attack. Her mother had gone back to work and Hermione had hired a nurse to check up on her father when her mother couldn’t. Hermione usually checked up on them twice a week, to make sure they were doing well.

Hermione bit back a sigh as her world came into focus. More of the Weasley clan trickled into the Burrow, baring gifts to bestow upon Hermione. She did all the right things such as grinning, laughing at appropriate moments, and thanking everyone profusely, not cluing anyone into her daily emotional inner workings. Hermione honestly didn’t want to trouble anyone with her life troubles. As of late, she had been having issues with dissociating from life. Not that she would admit it to anyone. Crookshanks for sure didn’t count, even though her half-kneazle cat was sharp as a whip.

So, on her 24th birthday, Hermione wished that somewhere out there that the Fates or whoever was listening to her silent plea for help would help her bring her life back into focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading and sending me all the kudos! I know it's not a high count, but I am ever so grateful for the ones I do have. My updates are a bit sporadic at the moment, but I will soon be on a consistent schedule. (Hopefully!) Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed this one!


	4. Because Magic Always Comes with a Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione made her way down the familiar corridors of her former school. She loved the warmth that the thick castle walls retained, the hum of magic hung in the air like an old friend. The feeling of safety has once more settled itself into Hogwarts. It had been years since she had last set foot into Hogwarts. The memories of her years there, good and ugly, bombarded her conscious, from meeting Harry and Ron, futile arguments with Malfoy, her years of magical knowledge that she gained, to fighting for her life and others at the Last Battle.

 

**_Department of Mysteries_ **

**_Sunday, September 21, 2003_ **

* * *

 

Hermione swore that the Fates had an odd sense of humor.

Four days later, Malfoy all but ambushed her in the Time Lab. She wondered why Kingsley had thought placing Malfoy under her department was a good idea. The Ministry wasn’t even supposed to meddle in her DOM affairs.

When he appeared unannounced, she had been frowning at the Time Turner and combing through research that the Unspeakables were working on. Hermione pushed some hair out of face and gritted her teeth, her jaw locking as she stared at the damned Time Turner. She had been doing so well! The diagnostic spells that she had found in her new books were working well until they stopped.

Now the Time Turner was stuck in a loop of spells. Hermione groaned and slammed her self-inking quill down, ink blotting on her parchment.

The brunette flipped through the massive book that sat next to her. It was thick, old, and hummed with eerie magic. It was a book related to the topics of diagnostic spells, time theories, and the physics of time traveling. So far nothing was adding up to breaking the rest of the curses on the Time Turner. She then looked at the parchments in front of her and sifted through them, which were scattered all over the work table.  

Since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in ‘96, the Time Room had been transformed. It now resembled a very clean muggle science lab, with every type of time-related piece one could ever dream up. These timepieces were locked up in cases with very strong wards. The only Time Turners left in existence were also locked away in an office at the back of the Time Room, save for the Time Turner Hermione was currently working on.

“Damn Granger, you still look like a bloody swot. You’re giving me horrid nostalgia.”

Hermione didn’t need to look up to see who had spoken to her. The drawl was unmistakable and she knew of only one person that would insult her as a greeting.

“I don’t have time for your insults, Malfoy.” She replied, turning over the paper she had been reading and then scratching something on the parchment she had in front of her. Her reply was curt and to the point. Hermione was trying to be amicable.

The Time Turner was levitating in another complicated diagnostic spell that siphoned most of her energy. Hermione was looking through the different spells and curses that had been placed on the timepiece. Her spell wasn’t perfect, but it was helping her understand the various levels of magic that had been bled into the precious piece.

Something was planted in front of her. This action stopped her writing as she stared at the paper cup that had the familiar scent of warm black tea. Hermione stared at the paper cup with an incredulous look slowly taking her features

“It’s not going to bite you, Granger.” The deadpan voice broke her staring contest with the cup.

She took off her glasses, which she had acquired two years after Hogwarts, and stared blankly at the Malfoy, who was sipping on his own cup.

“What’s it?” She pointed to the cup. “Is it poisoned? Bitter? Sleeping draught? Alihotsy Draught?”

Malfoy’s face twisted into a familiar sneer as he leaned against an empty table behind himself.

“You very well know what it is Granger,” said Malfoy. “I’m not here to poison you–quite opposite really. It’s kind of my job to make sure you stay alive.”

Hermione grabbed the warm cup and inhaled the scent that wafted from it. All she could smell was the black tea and hint of honey. She looked at Malfoy wide-eyed.

“How’d you know to put honey and not sugar,” she asked, suspicion clouded each word.

He just sipped his own beverage, a look of triumph ghosted through his face before he settled into his regular schooled features. Hermione scoffed but took a tentative sip of her tea, she hadn’t had time to grab herself a cup. Hermione was in mild shock as they both drank their tea, it was just as she took it regularly. Malfoy didn’t say anything as Hermione went back to work and sipped her tea periodically. He had settled into a stool across from hers and sat there watching her. This went on until they both finished their beverages. Her skin prickled, reminding her that they had, had a _challenging_ conversation.

“A peace offering.”

Hermione looked up so fast her neck cracked. “ _What?_ ”

“The tea, Granger.” Malfoy frowned. “It’s a peace offering.” He glared at her quizzical look.

“Oh? Here I was thinking it was a declaration of war.”

“We both know that I’d win,” he said.

“I’m not sure, we don’t know each other that well.”

Malfoy shoved his hands into his suit trouser pockets. He was wearing all black, as per usual, but he wore what looked like a very expensive pair of black trousers, black shiny; most likely dyed dragonhide shoes, and a long-sleeved dress shirt. There was a shiny glint of a chain clipped to his black belt that led into his left pocket, she wondered if that was a pocket watch, her fascination with timepieces clawing at her.

“I had no idea you were such an ingrate.” He spat standing up, still glaring. “You were the one spying on me.”

Hermione set down her self-inking quill again as her face pulled into a grimace. Malfoy’s pale cheeks almost seemed to tinge red as he collected his cup and her empty one. Malfoy really hadn’t expected to hear Hermione’s twinkle of laughter. It was soft and he strained to hear it, but she had indeed laughed.

He stared at her like she had grown five heads.

“Malfoy, I was joking,” said Hermione, still chuckling slightly. “I am in no mood to be petty and I wasn’t ‘spying’ on you...”

He glared at her. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want Malfoy,” she said in a low voice shifting away and crossing her arms over her chest.  

“Hm,” said a disgruntled Malfoy. He was now standing awkwardly gripping the two empty paper cups.

He bore a hole in her head as he stood there shuffling awkwardly. Hermione didn’t know that Malfoys shuffled. Malfoy stared at her and whirled around, walking out of the lab. Hermione felt shell-shocked at her interaction with Malfoy. As the curly haired girl went back to work, she felt a warmth spread through her whole person. Even though their goodbye was shaky, she still felt relaxed and surprisingly motivated to continue her research.

Hermione scratched away at the parchment and regularly tapped her wand near the Time Turner to change the course of the spell.

The shield around the Time Turner shook and a frigid feeling crawled down her spine.

Who the _hell_ cursed the Time Turner?

She sighed in frustration for the nth time that day and took off her glasses. Hermione knew that she was now getting nowhere. Again. She glanced at the clock as she made a decision, she needed a break.

That was how she found herself in her regular seat inside a warm Camelot Cafe. Since Hermione had set foot inside the cafe the first time, it always called her back more so even without Harry.

“Welcome back Hermione.” The familiar twinkle in Mervyn’s blue eyes greeted her as he poured her a cup of coffee. “I trust you’re doing well?”

She gazed at him thoughtfully, her head tilting as she rested her cheek on the back of her hand.

“Well is a relative term, Mervyn,” Hermione said and her voice shifted into a curious tone. “Since Harry and I have been coming here I still haven’t figured out if you’re truly a Squib.” She had kept her voice low, lest some unfortunate Muggle hear her careless remark.

Mervyn’s eyebrows raised and he sent her a grin, he motioned to the booth across her table. Hermione gave him a nod and picked up creamer packets to dump on her bitter beverage.

“You’re a perceptive one Hermione, I’ll give you that.” He chuckled, his head bounced slightly as he did so. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such a keen eye.”

She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “I call it a gift. I don’t miss details.” Hermione’s nose scrunched up. “So, now, what are you? Are you truly a Squib or is there something else?”

Mervyn placed his lips into a thin line. “I suggest a charm.”

Hermione waved her hand discreetly and magic seeped into the air. If Mervyn was surprised he didn’t show it. The familiar buzz of the charm bubbled them in and the familiar warm feeling doing magic settled in Hermione’s stomach.

“Please, do tell me, Mervyn.” Hermione nodded to him and drank some of her coffee.

His eyebrows pulled together as he leaned back and looked at her with a guarded look.

“I’ve never told this to anyone,” Mervyn said, slowly.

“Nobody trustworthy?”

He shrugged. “Nobody that has been as observant as you.” Mervyn crossed his arms. “There’s a reason why I’ve named my cafe, Camelot Cafe.”

“I can say that you’re well informed with that time period,” she said.

“Well you are aware of the legend or to you the history?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Arthur Pendragon was a mighty king in his age that united the lands of Albion. He worked alongside his wife, Guinevere Pendragon and his servant and friend Merlin, the first warlock of our magic age.” She placed her mug down. “Merlin also helped settle Hogwarts with Gryffindor, Salazar, Rowena, and Hufflepuff. I also know that he traveled around the world helping establish all the other schools. I’m not sure how involved he was with the others.”

Mervyn chuckled. “Yes, you’re more privy to that information than most wizards or witches that I’ve met,” he said. She grinned at him wryly and he continued. “I’m not sure if I’m able to tell you everything.”

“Whatever you can, Mervyn.”

“As I’ve said, my family line starts with Merlin,” he said. “Most of my family members are part of the Wizarding World and I voluntarily stepped away after many issues.” Mervyn grimaced. “Also, I am a blood relative of the Branigans, but not fully.”

“So, there must be a reason why you’re a Squib, but sometimes it looks as if you can do magic.”

Hermione polished off her coffee and pursed her lips.

He shrugged. “Sometimes it works that I can, sometimes it’s chance.”

Hermione hummed noncommittally, her eyes shifted as she felt a shift in her magic and discreetly dispelled the _Muffliato_ charm.

“Oi Mervyn!”

A patron yelled good-naturedly. Hermione and Mervyn’s head swiveled to look at the patron leaning against the bar. The man was tall, he had hair shaved close to his head, and muscles that protruded from under his shirt. He grinned when Mervyn looked at him.

“Aye, that’s Percy.” There was an underlying tone of fondness as Mervyn stood up. He shot Hermione a look. “We can continue our conversation later.”

She nodded as he trotted away behind the bar to refill Percy’s drink. Mervyn’s familiarity grew as Hermione observed his interaction with the bulky man. Percy was surrounded by three other men, all with good stature and equaling good looks. An image flashed in front of her eyes as she stared at the group. The image was filled with red, grey, and clashing swords.

Hermione startled as she sat back in her booth. Hermione knew she didn’t have the Gift of Sight so the images didn’t explain anything. Mervyn caught her eye and winked at her, this furthered Hermione’s suspicions.

“Hullo.” A man that had been with Percy approached her table. Hermione’s eyebrows rose up as she looked at him. He had shaggy black hair that piled on his shoulders. “Mervyn requested me to deliver this to you.”

He held a plate that had a scone and slice of American apple pie.

“My name is Hermione.” She smiled at him.

“Name’s Grady,” he said. “May I?”

Hermione gave him a small nod and he placed the plate in front of her. He motioned to the seat in front of her and placed himself in it.

“What can I do for you Grady?” She asked.

He looked harmless enough and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. Grady had amber eyes that glowed with mirth.

“Mervyn’s mentioned you a few times,” he said. “I’m happy I’ve finally got to meet you. I was wondering if you wanted to join me for a meal sometime this weekend? I’d love to get to know you.”

Hermione’s hand paused as she reached for the scone. Her eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?” she said. “You hardly know me.”

“This way I can get to know you,” said Grady, who sent her a cheeky grin.

She refrained from making a noise as she observed him. Grady did look harmless, but Hermione somehow it wouldn’t feel right accepting his invitation.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. The tone of her voice made Grady frown.“I don’t believe I’ll be good company.” Hermione pushed the plate away slightly and made ready to get up. “I have to get going.”

“S’alright Milady.”

She made to walk to the bar counter, where the other rowdy men were still joking with Mervyn. Hermione smiled pleasantly at the cashier as she paid for her coffee. She eyed as Grady walked back to the rowdy men and was patted on the back by a few of the men. Hermione left, the cold air hitting her face harshly. She closed her coat around herself and strode to the Apparition point.

Hermione didn’t notice Mervyn eying her pensively as she disappeared down the alleyway across from his cafe.

“You said she’d say yes!” Grady groused as Mervyn cleaned the counter once more.

Mervyn was tempted to roll his eyes. “I didn’t say that. You don’t ever listen, Grady.”

“She’s a beaut though,” Percy smiled, squeezing Grady’s shoulder. “Just not for you. “ He shot Mervyn a look. “Didn’t you say that she had someone?”

Mervyn stopped his cleaning and place the rag on a stainless steel bar.

“I mean…” he trailed off. “She’s been going through some troubles lately, but I don’t believe that she has someone.” Mervyn frowned. “Why is Hermione part of this conversation?”

“Ay, don’t be daft, Mervyn!” Grady said, shaking his head.

“What Mervyn here is trying to say is that she’s emotionally unavailable.” Leonardo interrupted placing his glass of iced coffee down.

Mervyn nodded shortly and went to attend to a patron, distancing himself from his friends. He needed to make time to go see someone. He had an inkling that Hermione wasn’t going to stop poking around.

X

_Hermione’s flat_

_Monday, September 22, 2003_

* * *

 

“It’s only going to be a week Hermione.” Ginny was lounging on Hermione’s chaise in her room.

The curly haired witch in question was shuffling through her closet and levitating items into her small trunk. Hermione huffed loudly in response.

“A week that Harry didn’t even warn me about until a few days ago. I barely have my lessons together for the whole week,” she said, shutting a drawer loudly. “I also had to put someone in charge of my Departments.”

Ginny crossed her arms and legs. “But are you ready?”

Hermione twirled her wand in her hand and shot the last of her belongings for the week into her trunk and shrunk it to fit in her beaded bag.

She shrugged and plopped herself on her bed.

“Sure, I mean I’m not sure I’m ready for the inconsistent drinking,” she said a wry smile on her lips.

“It’ll be good for you ‘Mione,” said Ginny standing up and pulling the girl into her arms. “Honestly, Harry and I are really worried about you.”

Hermione pulled away from Ginny and crossed her arms and legs and frowned at her. “Over what Gin?”

Ginny chewed on her lip and shifted on Hermione’s bed awkwardly.

“We’re worried that you’ve been spiraling. And we’re scared that it’s already too late.”

Hermione sighed and crossed her legs as she twirled her wand in her hands absentmindedly.

“I drink occasionally,” she said, her gaze not meeting Ginny’s.

“Bullshite Hermione.”

Hermione gripped her wand and felt the rush of her magic flow through her. She gripped it harder before looking up at Ginny. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears as she played with the surge of magic. For some reason, Ginny was always able to figure her out, no matter how many walls she constructed. Ginevra Weasley was always there tearing those walls down.

“Alright, more than occasionally.” Hermione’s eyebrows pulled tautly. “Please realize that I haven’t pushed people away because I hate everyone.”

“We’d never think that, Mione.” Ginny shook her head, her hair falling somewhat out of her sloppy bun. “Once you left your own party early we had a family meeting.” This is where Ginny’s cheeks matched the color of her hair as Hermione gave her the Hermione Stare Down. “My family is worried about you as much as Harry and I are. You’ve thrown yourself into the Ministry and your second work and you take all-nighters so frequently. It’s worse than when you were at Muggle Uni.”

Hermione shrugged weakly. “I haven’t felt like myself for a long time Ginny.”

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.” Ginny grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed. “I’m not gonna force anything out of you, because I know that’s no good.”

Hermione let out a dry chuckle and squeezed Ginny’s hand back. She honestly didn’t know when young Ginny had grown up to become so wise and mature.

“Thanks, Gin, maybe some time back at Hogwarts will help me sort things,” said Hermione as she left her bed and continued tinkering around her room for the rest of her belongings.

Ginny left some hours after they had dinner and Hermione flooed to Hogwarts with Crookshanks in tow. She figured her cat would love a chance to explore Hogwarts again. McGonagall was waiting for Hermione in her office. Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, shaking off the powder and soot, she would have much preferred to Apparate but Hogwarts’ wards were stronger than ever. McGonagall’s office had changed to Snape’s and Dumbledore’s old office. Since McGonagall stepped up as Headmistress, Tonks had taken over as the Transfiguration professor. Tonks gave up the Auror life to take care of Teddy and spend time with a retired Lupin instead of chasing villains. Having Teddy helped bring life into perspective for Tonks and Lupin.

“Thank you for coming, Hermione,” McGonagall nodded and grasped Hermione’s hand. “Professor Mira had to portkey to America for a little while.”

“It’s no issue, Mira owled me her year plan and gave me some freedom in preparing this week's lessons,” Hermione said, accepting the teacup and saucer as she sat across from McGonagall’s desk.

“What are the topics that are to be covered this week?” McGonagall asked as she looked through pieces of parchment.

“Tyr's Aett, Freya’s Anglo-Saxon Aett, and Hagall’s Anglo-Saxon Aett,” Hermione recited, the lessons she had been organizing were still fresh in her mind’s eye.  

McGonagall nodded and placed the papers on a stack at the corner of her desk.

Hermione sipped her tea slowly as she and McGonagall fell into easy conversation. It had been a few years since she had last seen the Hogwarts Headmistress, but nevertheless, it was as if no time had gone by.  Hermione was also happy that her former Head of House did not make anything awkward.

It was a few hours later that Hermione found herself in Professor Mira’s classroom looking over her completed lesson plans and timetables of the classes she was to have. Hermione was teaching OWL leveled Ancient Runes and Advanced NEWT leveled Ancient Runes, her lessons echoed each of the classes specifically. Professor Mira’s lessons were also a huge help with lesson organization.

Hermione glanced at her timetable a third time, she was to have Fifth Year Slytherins and Gryffindors first followed by Seventh Year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Finally satisfied, Hermione shuffled her parchment away in a folder and placed it on the professor's desk. A smile came to her lips as she grabbed her cloak and made her way out of the classroom. A break was for sure something she needed.

Hermione made her way down the familiar corridors of her former school. She loved the warmth that the thick castle walls retained, the hum of magic hung in the air like an old friend. The feeling of safety has once more settled itself into Hogwarts. It had been years since she had last set foot in Hogwarts. The memories of her years there, good and ugly, bombarded her conscious, from meeting Harry and Ron, futile arguments with Malfoy, her years of magical knowledge that she gained, to fighting for her life and others at the Last Battle. Hermione gripped her cloak tighter around her as she made her way up near the Ravenclaw tower, where the quest quarters had been moved to.

She arrived back to her quarters, her heart racing, and in a cold sweat. The castle brought an onslaught of unpleasant memories. Hermione pulled herself onto the sofa and wrapped herself in a blanket that was draped over the arm of the sofa. The woman willed the memories to go away as she rocked herself to calm down. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she curled into herself and she fell asleep, twitching with anxiety.

When she woke up it was dark outside, the shadows from the night contrasting with the candlelight. It looked positively eerie. Hermione stretched herself out, joints cracking because of the uncomfortable position she had fretfully slept in. She glanced at her wristwatch and stood up slowly. Her throat felt dry and uncomfortable and she wanted a drink.

_Don’t be stupid Hermione._ Her thoughts scolded her.

To rid herself of any temptations, Hermione decided it was time for a nice warm shower and then sleep on an actual bed.

X

It was early afternoon when Mervyn left his cafe, with his trusted employees and zipped up his coat. It was early afternoon when he decided to venture out and pay a visit to some old acquaintances of his. Hermione’s poking around revived something in him. Since Hermione frequently visited his cafe and used her magic, he’d been feeling the magic call to him again. The magic she used was filling up the gaping hole he’d been attempting to fill for a long time. He shifted his scarf and made his way down the street to cross over to Antiqui Libri. He felt himself get more sensitive to magic as well. Mervyn could now feel the strong magic that wafted from the alley near Antiqui Libri. Many magical folks used the alley as a transportation hub. As he entered Antiqui Libri, Mervyn was greeted by Andrea Willoughby. She was shuffling through books that were stacked precariously on the counter.

She looked up at him before the bells chimed, signaling a customer.

“Mervyn,” said Mrs. Willoughby with a soft voice. There was understanding in her amber eyes. “What you are searching for is at the back of the shop. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need assistance.”

Mervyn smiled dipping his head slightly. “You’re always three steps ahead, Andrea.”

“I can sense your magic approaching,” said Andrea, she walked around the counter, sauntering over to him.

He fell into step with her as she guided him through the bookshelves.

“I can too, anything magical that I have come across has been calling to me stronger than ever,” said Mervyn, hesitantly. “It has been about four centuries since I’ve lost my powers.”

Andrea glanced at him. “My, that is quite a while without magic…” she said carefully. “Especially for you, Mervyn.”

“Being a Squib isn’t too bad.” He shrugged. “I had my powers when they counted. They’ve come and gone over the years, so I am not sure what to make of my predicament.”

They stopped in front of the fireplace at the back of the shop.

Andrea’s eerie eyes raked over Mervyn cautiously. “Be wary Mervyn, whoever placed this curse on you may still be afoot, to the point where even you cannot speak your true names.”

Mervyn grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and smiled as he felt the magic of it.

“Thank you, Andrea,” said Mervyn. “I have never met a Seer that has been as gracious and welcoming as yourself.”

“To us, you’re family. So don’t be shy once you have your magic.” Andrea’s red lips pulled up at the corners. “Our doors are always open to you.”

Mervyn waved to Andrea before calling out his destination.

After the twisting and gut-wrenching feeling of the Floo transport, Mervyn dizzily stepped out of the fireplace. He looked around, attempting to keep himself upright and balanced and marveled at the grand entry that he found himself in. It had shining marble floors, high vaulted ceilings with a chandelier that looked to have cost a small fortune, the drapery was maroon with gold trimmings, and Mervyn felt as though he had been deposited inside a king’s chambers. It had been quite some time since he used wizards’ transport, he was out of practice for sure. Mervyn shuddered to think about if he attempted Apparition.

After a few seconds of deep breathing, he vision was able to steady itself. As his vision cleared up a house elf had popped in front of him.

“Mr. Mervyn.” The house elf bowed slightly. “Mitzi is here to escort you to the Master and Missus.”

He nodded at the creature and she led him down a long corridor and up a massive spiraling staircase. Mitzi knocked on a door that looked as grand as everything else in the home. The trimmings around the wooden door looked to have Ancient Latin etched into it. As Mitzi opened the door, Mervyn felt the strong magic as he walked past the threshold.

“Mr. Meryn for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” Mitzi bowed and with a snap disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this asap. So, hopefully, there aren't too many errors! xx


	5. Because Magic is Unpredictable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There was something in his tone of voice that caused her to stumble backward. Hermione’s eyes snapped to his as he stepped into the Apparition point with her, taking advantage of her minor slip. There was something indecipherable in his tired murky eyes as he neared her. She must have been really worn out because Hermione could have sworn she saw something akin to worry flash in Draco’s eyes.”

****

**_Department of Mysteries_ **

**_Friday, September 26, 2003_ **

 

Patrolling the main corridors of the Department of Mysteries was an unfortunate Unspeakable.

This Unspeakable had been placed on guard duty for the department. Every Unspeakable hated guard duty, the department had tendencies of being bizarre at the best times. Guard duty was when Unspeakables roamed the corridors of the department in rotations and made sure that everything was in its place.

There were two more Unspeakables in the Hall of Prophecy, they were tapping lightly with their wands at the end of each shelf. Green light emitted each time they tapped their wands. A frigid breeze manifested from the prophecies as the Unspeakables walked down the rows. Older prophecies had been destroyed in ’96 and they were still replacing the missing prophecies. That day, one of the Unspeakables had the task to check on the Death Chamber, it was the most dreaded task of all. The Death Chamber was usually checked on every fortnight if there was no current research going on.

The Unspeakable in charge of the Death Chamber gripped their wand firmly as they walked down the blue-hued aisle. An unmistakable coldness crept down their spine as they inched closer to the looming door. Lumos passed quietly from their lips as they opened the door with a gentle push. The person shivered again as a heavy barrier of the Death Chamber wards passed through them.

On that day, there was only one to witness something that had never happened in the history of wizardkind, or even mankind. A hand was at the entrance of the Veil.

The hand was long, thin, and skeletal. It struggled to grip the side of the stone arch in the middle of the Death Chamber. The Unspeakable whose body temperature dropped significantly, failed to notice the hand because they were busy using their wand to tap on the stone that lined the exit. The stones that lined the door had strong runic symbols protecting the Department of Mysteries, every so often Unspeakables strengthened the symbols.

The hand was soon joined by another skeletal hand. Something akin to dread crawl up the Unspeakable’s spine. The magical energy in the air thickened and their throat constricted with displaced fear that they had not felt since the last battle with Voldemort himself. Abruptly, they stopped what they were doing and turned around slowly.

 

A blood-curdling scream ripped from the Unspeakable’s throat, cracking a few prophecies.

  ****

**_Mervyn’s flat_ **

 

Mervyn sat up gasping. Lungs struggling to take in oxygen, his heart hammering in his rib cage and adrenaline spiked enough to make his skin hum with magic that was lost. The springy mattress underneath him squeaked and complained as he vaulted from it.

Mervyn threw open his wardrobe, shuffling through it to find the box he had retrieved from the Malfoy’s. He knew he could finally open the box, a box that had been hidden away from him too long. Mervyn threw himself onto his bed with the box cradled in his arms. He could feel his lost magic begin to course through him as he opened the box. Inside the box, sat the wand he had purchased right before the Once and Future King had perished. It had been an old staff that he used to channel his magic at the Battle of Camlann, afterward, he had gone and had it made into a wand that was easier to carry around discreetly.

Mervyn wrapped his hand around the wand, a shudder running down his spine as magic finally seeped back into him like life returning to his bones. It greeted him like a long departed old friend and awoke him from his slumber. Both metaphorically and physically. His eyes flashed gold and Merlin disapparated with a loud crack. The papers and dust in his room kicked up, only leaving behind his powerful magical signature.

****

**_Hogwarts_ **

 

Lunchtime was always the best time of day because the Great Hall filled with students, chatting animatedly with each other. Their voices echoed off the vaulted, fall-themed enchanted ceiling. Hermione noticed that Houses seemed to intermingle freely during her week observation of her alma mater. A smile crossed her lips as she watched Slytherins and Gryffindors enjoying each other’s company and having lunch together. To help Hermione with her anxiety, she managed to snatch a few vials of the Calming Draught and withdrawal potions from the Hospital wing for her week of teaching.

She had thus far made halfway through Friday without feeling overwhelmed and panicked. Her daily withdrawal symptoms were also lessened because of the potion, except her dreams spoke different tones. She didn’t dare say anything to Harry that being back at Hogwarts had helped her anxiety, more than she cared to admit. He grinned at her as she took her seat next to him.

“Professor Potter.” Hermione greeted her friend with a smile. She piled a good amount of food onto her plate, her appetite had increased since she had been sleeping more than usual.

Harry shook his head at her teasing tone.

“Wotcha Hermione,” he replied. “You seem happy.”

She rolled her eyes and took a bite of chicken. “Slept well, is all, Harry.”

Harry watched her for a moment before his attention was taken away by another professor. Hermione contently ate her food as she watched over the Great Hall, the peace they fought for was finally showing itself in the face of the students. Nearing lunchtime, a screech overhead snapped up Hermione’s attention. It was an unmistakable screech of her Screeching owl, Lian. Attached to one of its legs was a thin letter. Hermione swallowed her last piece of chicken and drank some water to wash it down.

The owl landed on the perch in front of the professor's table and Lian held out her leg for Hermione to grab the letter. Hermione’s eyes widened as she took the letter immediately knowing that there was a problem. The seal that held the letter closed was from the Department of Mysteries. Lian flew away with a screech after grabbing a treat from Harry.

“What’s it? What’s wrong?” Harry asked, leaning closer to her as Hermione torn open the letter.

_Come at once._

Was all the letter said and it wasn’t signed. Hermione placed the letter in front of her plate and it burst into flames. It was gone before anyone else could notice.

“I have to go, there is an emergency at work.” Hermione stood up, grabbing her pointy hat. “I will try my best to be back in time. If not, please make my excuses to the students.”

Harry nodded mutely watching his best friend scurry away. Hermione was already dashing out of the Great Hall, her robes fluttering around her.

Hermione arrived at the Headmistress’ office in record time and took the stairs by two.

“By Circe Hermione, whatever is the matter?” Mcgonagall asked as Hermione appeared frazzled at the entryway.

“I am so sorry Headmistress, but I have to get to work, they have an emergency and they knew not to contact me unless it was life or death,” said Hermione, her words tumbling out. “I need to get to the Ministry immediately.”

Mcgonagall nodded and directed Hermione to the fireplace. “By all means Hermione, go on ahead. Merlin be with you.”

Hermione nodded and disappeared in a cloud of green flames.

It took her all but three seconds to hear the noise coming from the Time Lab as she ran out of her office. She burst into it, her magic sizzling, and saw all of her Unspeakables surrounding one person. The lady was crying hysterically and another Unspeakable was attempting to calm her down.

“Can somebody please tell me what in Merlin’s name is going on!”

The talking died down and her Unspeakables stared at her with stunned expressions. Hermione was sure that her hair was standing on end.

“They claim there’s something in the Death Chamber.” Hermione whirled to face the speaker, her brow twitched uncomfortably. “We’ve warded the door in the Hall of Prophecies with the strongest wards we know, Ms. Granger.”

"Jill, dear.” Hermione approached the sniffling woman. “What did you see?”

Jill visibly flinched and hugged herself. “I think I saw death itself attempting to climb out from beyond the Veil.”

A cold feeling traveled down Hermione’s spine. She looked around. “Where’s Malfoy?”

“Right here, Granger.” His voice drew stares from everyone. He walked around the tables and the other Unspeakables, who started whispering softly to each other, holding something in his hands. “I went to grab a Calming Draught for Jill. Fear induced panic attacks are right nasty.”

He handed the trembling woman the vial and helped her drink it slowly.

Hermione nodded briskly at him and stood up.  She had to think of something, but fortunately (or unfortunately in this case) she was the boss so she had to go look inside the Death Chamber and would be able to think on her feet.

“Padma, go inform Kingsley that there is a situation, please be as vague as you can.” Hermione figured that if she started down the list of things to do in a department emergency, she would be able to gather enough courage to go to the Chamber to investigate. “Bell and Bones, please go notify Auror Department Emergency Task Force, Code Black; Merin, go make sure that no one stops on this floor…”

Once Hermione had given everyone a job, including having someone escort Jill home, she brandished her wand and started to make for the door.

“I am a piece of wall or something Granger?”

Hermione cursed inwardly. Malfoy. She had sent all her Unspeakables off to do a task and she had forgotten about him. He had his hands shoved in his pockets with an unreadable expression on his face, waiting for Hermione to say something.

“No, Malfoy, take up your wand and follow me,” said Hermione, tersely, in response. She knew of his capability as a wizard and decided it was better to have Malfoy at her side than no one.  

An argument bubbled at his lips, but her angry glare silenced him. Seething in a subdued manner, he followed her out of the Time Lab.

Adrenaline coursing through her veins and her magic once again sizzled, it crackled under her skin the closer they got to the Hall of Prophecies. Honestly, she was so peeved at the prospect of danger. Her time at Hogwarts had been very stress relieving and refreshing. So damn anything that would get in her way. Whatever was in the Chamber was going to get hell and high water.

Approaching the door to the Hall of Prophecies, Hermione was thrown back and slammed into Malfoy, who in surprise, steadied her. Hermione barely noticed Malfoy’s touch as she stared agape at the figure that appeared in front of her.

“Mervyn!”

 “Stupefy!”

Hermione and Malfoy yelled at the same time. Mervyn quickly deflected the jinx with a lazy wave of his wand and trained his eyes on Hermione. Malfoy readied to throw another curse but Hermione held her arm in front of him.

“I wasn’t sure if that was going to work, but I went for it,’ said Mervyn sheepishly.

Hermione glared and stalked up to him, her emotions bubbling to the surface. “What the bloody hell mate! I am not privy to your plans. And do explain how you apparated directly into the Ministry of Magic and if you possess no magic.”

Hermione had advanced on Mervyn, with electric eyes, sparkling with barely concealed magic and dangerous intent. Mervyn, in turn, and took a step back from her, his eyes flashed dangerously gold back at her.

“It happened faster than I had anticipated, Hermione,” Mervyn said. “I really hadn’t expected it to come so soon.”

“What are you on about? You told me that your family line started with Merlin.” Hermione had her wand trained on him. “And you said that you couldn’t do any magic. What haven’t you told me?”

“My true identity,” Mervyn remarked with a lift of his shoulders.

Malfoy nudged Hermione with his arm. “Granger, who’s this bloke?” he asked, his tone was suspicious.

Hermione flickered her eyes at Malfoy and then back to Mervyn. There was something she was missing as she stared at the man in front of her. He looked different but she couldn’t place what it was. Mervyn’s hair was still tied at the nape of his neck, his tattoos were still all along his arms, and his face hadn’t changed.

“As far as I know, his name is Mervyn Branigan and he’s the owner of Camelot Cafe.”

“I will be truthful with you because now I can be,” Mervyn said, twirling his wand nervously.

“Out with it then.” Hermione pursed her lips and lowered her wand.

“My name is Merlin.” Both Hermione and Malfoy shivered as magic passed through them at Merlin’s words. “I’ve been under a curse for almost four centuries and I could not speak the truth to a soul.”

“Merlin? As in the most powerful wizard of all time?” Hermione asked, her mouth falling open.

He shrugged. “I’m guessing. And my curse just lifted, about five minutes ago.”

“Tsk.” Hermione clicked her tongue and stepped up to him. “Of course that would be who you are. We don’t have time to deal with you right now.” She walked around Merlin and proceeded to de-ward the door to the Hall of Prophecies. Merlin snapped his jaw shut as he gawked at the witch.

The last ward dropped from the door and Hermione opened the door and stepped through. She flippantly ignored Merlin’s perplexed look as she thought through the process of de-warding the Death Chamber door in her head.

Malfoy gritted his teeth uncomfortably. “Bloody Gryffindors,” he muttered but followed after Hermione.

The Hall of Prophecy had an eerie blue glow that was more anxious feeling than calming. Their footsteps echoed all around them as Merlin and Malfoy followed behind Hermione. A stale breeze swept in and out of the rows. It added to the atmosphere that made them feel exposed. 

“What is this place?” Merlin asked in a soft voice.

“The Hall of Prophecy. When Seers have visions of people, prophecies appear on the shelves,” Hermione replied in an equally soft voice.

The Death Chamber door glowed white with how strong the wards around it were. Hermione, throwing caution to the wind, didn’t blink twice before disabling the strong wards which attempted to take her out from doing so. Malfoy was entranced by her speed and dexterousness at disabling violent wards. He and Merlin watched as Hermione stood with a perfect stance against the volatile wards. Her pointy hat and robes her billowed with the magic force which surrounded her. She was muttering and shooting curses, spells, and charm combinations.

This was advanced magic that many magical folks were not able to achieve. Merlin looked pensive as Hermione needed no help to get through the magic. She also didn’t hesitate as she stepped through the newly open door. For Hermione, it had been rough trial and error learning how to ward and de-ward the Death Chamber door. Hermione shifted uncomfortably as her old scars prickled with the magic residue from the doorway.

“She’s a force to be reckoned with,” Merlin muttered to Malfoy. “I’ve never seen her use magic this way.”

Malfoy grunted in response and followed slowly after Hermione.

The Department of Mysteries worked with strange and unusual experiments, but they were not prepared for what laid beyond the door.

“A wraith!” Malfoy shouted, diving behind a large boulder with Hermione, who was assessing the situation.

Hermione rolled away from the dementor-like creature when it screeched loudly and dove at Malfoy. Hermione shot a nasty curse that deflected the wraith from the white-blond as he joined her behind another boulder. Malfoy muttered and shot spells at the creature, keeping it away from them. Hermione focused on offense as Malfoy fell into defense. She erected shields and timed her curses with Malfoy’s. 

“Merlin, what the hell is a wraith doing here!” Hermione yelled, shooting a jet of red light (a particularly nasty curse) at the wraith.

“A better question for you!” Merlin yelled back, skidding over to Malfoy and Hermione, he had a panicked look in his eyes and was already sweating.“Why the hell is there an archway to the netherworld in the middle of this room?”

Hermione glared at him. “This is not a time for those questions, Merlin. Can you get rid of it?” she snapped crisply.

“Yes.” He glared right back at her, his eyes glinted gold. Merlin turned away and started to walk right in front of the creature.

Malfoy’s firm hand on her arm stopped Hermione from following after Merlin. She glanced at Malfoy curiously and their eyes locked. Hermione saw fleeting worry before it was replaced by something else that she couldn’t identify.

“I think he has this,” said Malfoy, motioning to Merlin. Malfoy seemed inclined to stay very far away from the trouble.

Merlin was slowly approaching the creature, muttering in Ancient Latin and pointing his wand at the wraith. A strong magical force blew through the Death Chamber and the Veil started to flap wildly. Merlin’s voice grew louder and the wraith floated in the air in front of him screeching in agony.

All of a sudden the wraith flew straight up and crashed into the Veil, disappearing beyond the black tattered cloth. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as another wave of magic hit her just as the wraith disappeared. It came from beyond the Veil. Hermione and Malfoy climbed up the stone steps to join Merlin who was slowly nearing the Veil. Merlin’s eyebrows were pulled together, his lips were in a thin line and his neck was flushed pale.

“Merlin,” said Hermione, approaching him cautiously. “What are you hearing?”

Hermione was never able to hear anything coming from the Veil, so she always wondered what others heard.

“There’s something coming through,” Merlin replied, eyes narrowed and rushed forward without warning.

True to his word, Hermione watched with fear gripping her heart, a figure start to fall from beyond the Veil. Merlin was there in time to catch the person before they hit the stone ground.  

Malfoy’s hand was attached to her arm once more, rooting her to the spot.

“Stay back,” he muttered in a low tone.

“But–” Hermione paused because Malfoy squeezed her arm harder to the point of pain. She attempted to pull away but he just held on firmer. “Malfoy, let go.”

Malfoy’s jaw tensed as she looked up at him expectantly. Realization dawned on Hermione as she observed him, still trying to pull away. Realization dawned on her. He was scared and apparently also scared for her. This marked the second time that he had held her back from rushing into danger.

The figure turned out to be a tall, broad-shouldered, fair skin man. He was strikingly pale, paler than a person should be, and had a mop of blonde hair. Merlin was carrying him over to where Malfoy had rooted Hermione to the spot.

Merlin placed the man on the ground in front of the frozen young adults.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, breaking the silence that settled in the air. “Excuse me, what is going on. There is no possible way someone can come back through the Veil.” She looked back and forth between Merlin and the person on the ground in front of her. Shocking disbelief was written on her face. “We have been studying the Veil for centuries. There is no possible way for anyone to come through it.”

Merlin was crouched over the figure and was once again mouthing in Ancient Latin and tapping the man’s chest with his wand. His wand glowed with a healthy mixture of colors with his incantations.

“Except, Hermione, you have missed a large part of the present situation,” Merlin said, looking up at her. She bristled at his condescending tone. “If my name is Merlin, then who do you suppose this man is?”

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who had lost all of the colors in his face and neck and who was silently watching the interaction. She chewed on her lip and her eyebrows pulled together.

“As I said, it’s not possible! If this is an actual person, then, they are not all there,” she protested, waving her arms around. “There is always a price that Death demands.”

This time it was Merlin’s time to frown. “From my diagnosis, he’s fine.” He point-blank overlooked Hermione’s last statement.

Hermione wanted to yell, curse, pull out her hair, and scream because this whole situation was ludicrous. Not to mention her employees were panicked to a breaking point. No one had ever expected the Death Chamber to actually attack someone, or rather, scare someone half to death or spit out a human being.

Hermione twirled her wand after a quick contemplation and pointed it to the sleeping/dead/unconscious figure.

“Enerverate,” said Hermione firmly.

Coughing, hacking, and violent shaking followed as the person, whom Hermione didn’t want to name out of pure denial (or spite) jolted awake. Merlin glanced at Hermione and a still pale Malfoy and helped the blonde sit up. As we know, Hermione did not want to name the person, but Merlin was quite aware that King Arthur Pendragon was alive, alive and breathing.

“What the bloody hell Merlin!” A sheepish look settled itself on Merlin’s face, a look that he had thought he would forever put away. “I thought that I was dead.”

Merlin shrugged. “You died and told me "Thank you". Which was a miracle in itself,” he said.

Arthur Pendragon sat on the floor, he was clad in a beige tunic and loose pants. His hair reached below his collar and he looked to be gaining color in his face as the minutes passed. Confusion was displayed on his face as he looked around his surroundings.

Hermione had backed away with Malfoy as the two spoke to each other. She needed breathing room before she melted into a stress-induced panic attack.

“He’s a muggle,” Malfoy mumbled, to Hermione, but she figured it was him thinking aloud.

“Born of magic,” Hermione replied. “So he’s not fully muggle, squib more like, but the legends and Merlin were always vague at best.”

“You’re taking this well,” Malfoy said. His eyes seemed to be dissecting her with the sharp intellect. “How?”

Except, Malfoy’s question seemed genuinely curious.

“Oh trust me, I am most certainly not.” She grimaced, twirling her wand once more.

Malfoy blinked as he mulled over her statement. His eyes raked her contemplatively. Their conversation was put on a standstill as Arthur leaped up and started shaking Merlin.

“Where are we, Merlin? What the hell are you wearing? And why is your hair tied up? What is on your arms?” Arthur’s hands deadlocked onto Merlin’s arms. His pupils were blown wide as he looked around. His steel blue eyes landed on Hermione and Malfoy. “Who are they?”

Merlin unpeeled Arthur’s hands from his arms and helped Arthur stand up. Arthur wobbled as Merlin helped him stand upright.

Merlin gave Hermione a knowing look and he started leading Arthur slowly towards the exit.

“Look there is a lot we have to discuss. I’m just surprised you remember who I am and still have your memories,” said Merlin. “Let’s get you somewhere else so we don’t trigger anything else.”

Hermione and Malfoy exchanged quick looks and followed after Merlin and Arthur. Hermione went through a series of wards to surround the Veil before they left and once they were back in the Hall of Prophecies, she set up the previous wards and added stronger ones to the whole Death Chamber.

Arthur was shooting both Malfoy and Hermione suspicious and unimpressed looks as he half leaned on Merlin for help walking. The walk to Hermione’s office was brisk and unencumbered and Merlin finally settled Arthur on the sofa. Hermione did quick work of swishing her wand conjuring heavy set scrolls and old texts from her loaded bookshelves.

“Merlin, what is going on?” Arthur all but demanded. “They are using magic.”

Merlin sighed, his ponytail coming undone and his wavy hair tumbled around his shoulders. Hermione wondered if he had ever imagined meeting Arthur again.

“I actually thought you would be in Avalon, where I buried you.”

"Yes, I remember that we were near the Isle of Avalon,” Arthur said. “But then nothing more.”

Merlin nodded. “I sent you off to the island and there is a tomb there where I was able to place you. The isle is still there with your tomb, I hid it a long time ago.”

“That’s why we can’t find it,” Hermione breathed, eyes tracked to her. “Is it south of London?”

Merlin nodded in assent.

“First, I need to know who both of you are?” Arthur said.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” said Hermione, not looking up from her floating texts.

She was reading up on the Arthurian history and old spells that could become useful to her.

“Draco Malfoy,” Malfoy replied, he looked up from reading over Hermione’s shoulder.

“They have magic because she is a witch and he is a wizard,” Merlin explained, offhandedly. Arthur opened his mouth to talk but Merlin cut in easily. “and before you go off on a tirade of ‘Oh, I didn’t have time to adjust’ I have to also tell you that it’s been over a millennium since, Your Highness, has been dead/asleep or whatever you want to call it.”

Hermione thought for a moment that Merlin was being too crass with Arthur.

“So, Arthur was buried in Avalon but he came out from the Veil,” she said. “Can you explain that?”

“This Veil, you say, where do you think it goes?” Merlin’s voice suddenly had an icy edge to it.

Arthur started at the commanding tone that Merlin’s voice took. He didn’t remember Merlin being so...forward.

“Our research tells us that it is a void of death,” she replied. Her book snapped shut and flew off back to its proper place. Malfoy quietly grabbed the hovering scroll and settled himself into Hermione’s desk chair. “If you fall through you die and no one can ever come through.”

Merlin looked angry, but it only shone in his eyes as he spoke.

“Whatever that place is down the hall, the “Veil” is a passage to the netherworld. The place that leads to where the spirits lie. A hefty price must be paid each time the netherworld is open and closed.”

Arthur watched Hermione and Merlin size each other up, the magical energy in the room had shifted and it was suffocating.

“Okay, I understand that. That is exactly what I said earlier. Then if there are spirits there, why did he come through?” demanded Hermione, her hand pointed at Arthur.

“Tell me something I’m missing Merlin!”

“He’s the Once and Future King, Hermione! He was never supposed to stay dead. My magic was locked away for over 400 centuries, so I wasn’t able to trigger his reawakening.” He looked frazzled, tired, and angry. “So I don’t know why he came through that Veil unless there’s something I’m missing.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if the anger was directed at her or himself.

“There’s no way he can be king now,” Malfoy interjected, he had been silent for a while, digesting and observing the unusual occurrence. “England does not have a ruling monarchy, they are mainly figureheads of the state. The Windsor family would not take kindly to a random bloke taking their palace.”

“Draco’s right and I’m not sure how much longer Arthur can be here until the Ministry finds out the Statute of Secrecy has been broken,” said Hermione, twirling her wand pensively. Draco’s eyebrows did a slow climb up at Hermione’s slip up with his first name.

Draco hadn’t realized they were on a first name basis.

“King Arthur,” Arthur corrected, mainly out of habit.

“Sorry, Your Highness.” Hermione’s eyes flickered to the blond who looked weary.

Hermione sighed and flicked her wand to the corner of her office. In the corner was an icebox that was kept cold with a strong cooling charm, she levitated some pre-made sandwiches onto plates and put on the self-warming kettle for tea.

“Limbo.” Hermione looked at Draco who looked to be thumbing through her scroll. He looked up and pointed to the text. “It says here ‘the Veil is thought to be a form of limbo before the subject moves onto the next world.’ Whichever Unspeakable was working with this seemed to be onto something.”

Hermione then levitated the teapot, teacups, and plates onto the coffee table and stuffed her wand to rest on top of her ear. “I am curious about that theory but at this point, we’ll have to assume it’s purely speculation,” she acknowledged.“I’m going to go check on the Unspeakables and the Aurors that were supposed to come down here.”

Hermione glanced at the men in her office and sighed inwardly. She would never get a moment of peace in her world. An hour later, Hermione was back in her office, facing the three men. The food was gone and Arthur was asleep.

“No such luck,” Draco said, as Hermione walked up to him. “Your tomes are telling us nothing.” She grimaced at his comment exhaustion settling into her bones.

“Of course, there is not much information about the legends and the Veil,” said Hermione, sitting in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “I am so tired.” She ruffled her curls and made a circular motion with her finger. Her hair twirled and set itself into a high chignon.

Draco looked at her weirdly, but because Hermione was coming down from her stress high, his look didn’t register.

“Could I Floo to my flat?” Merlin asked, his voice traveled from the other side of her office. “I might have something that could give us some answers.”

Hermione just waved off at him.

“I am way too sober for this.” She groaned, covering her face with her hands. From under her hands, Hermione looked over Draco, who was wearing reading glasses and squinting at the tome in his hands. She wanted to take back the words as soon as she said them. “You know, you’re not as evil as people think you are.”

Hermione watched as Draco stiffened and looked at her with pupils blown wide.

“Granger, has being sober messed with your brain?” he said, his face closing off and a glare settled on his features.

Her cheeks warmed up at the accusation, it was her mistake for thinking aloud. Hermione was rested, Hogwarts had that effect on her, but she was bone weary because the adrenaline of the day had worn off.

“I am too tired to give you any proper response,” said Hermione, upturning her nose at Draco. “You’re lucky that I’m even allowing you to look through my tomes and research. 

Draco’s glare dropped into a neutral expression and he let the tome plop softly onto her desk. Hermione gave up on getting another response from him and tucked her legs under herself. He watched her as she waved another hand lazily in the air and a large book, nearly larger than herself, hovered in front of her at a proper’s arm's length. She flipped it open and conjured a self-inking quill. The pages were blank at first, but once Hermione started writing, words started appearing. She didn’t acknowledge his staring except to explain why words appeared.

“This is an old text with information that if questions are written, the knowledge will reveal itself,” she explained and didn’t look up from the writing. “It’s very similar to a codex of information.”

His eyebrows rose up in response, but his eyes stayed neutral. “What do you gather with Merlin and the man that claims to be King Arthur?”

Hermione paused her writing. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I knew Mervyn, he owns Camelot Cafe and I swore that he was a squib that had stronger magical energy than most squibs. I have been going to eat there for a while now. But now…” She trailed off looking to Arthur, who was still asleep.  

Draco let out an uncharacteristic sigh and took off his glasses, that Hermione believed looked striking on him. It accentuated his aristocratic features somehow. Along with his stubble that littered his face, Draco looked like a professor or a researcher. He looked less like the man that the wizarding world loved to hate.

“How does trouble seem to follow you Granger?” he asked with a frown.

Hermione’s jaw clenched as she looked at him. “It’s most likely a curse on me.”

Draco looked pensive as she returned to writing and taking notes, which were self-writing in the air.

Merlin returned with a flurry of books, scrolls, and tomes. His hair was half pinned up and his wand was tucked behind his ear. It had his hair pushed back and an earring glinted in the light.

“I found something!” he said loudly, jarring Arthur from his sleep.

 Hermione stopped writing and left her chair. “What is it?” she asked.

“An old text, dating back to the beginning of the British Ministry of Magic,” he said. “I came across it around the late 1700s, almost near the turn of the century. There were many wizards talking about magical research and I ended up collecting this text well into the 1800s.”

Hermione walked up to the coffee table where Merlin had dropped all his materials. She was mildly aware of Arthur staring at them with a guarded but perplexed look.

“You have a lot of resources,” Hermione muttered leafing through some texts.

Merlin chuckled dryly. “I haven’t been able to read magical texts properly because of my ailment,” he said, “now that my magic has returned, I can read through these without any struggle.” 

“A bloody anomaly,” Hermione said crossing her arms and giving Arthur a scrutinizing look. “It’s bordering illegal that I haven’t reported Arthur.”

“Except, Granger,” Draco said, standing up. “The Department of Mysteries is an independent department. Under your code of laws, you are not under the jurisdiction of the Ministry, therefore you are able to act independently of the laws that the Ministry has set up.”

Hermione frowned but nodded at Draco’s statement.

“You’re right, but once again, how far do I allow something like this to slide?” she asked.

“You’re the Head, so you decide that line and until you deem it absolutely necessary that the public and Ministry become privy of the situation,” he replied also taking a defensive stance and crossing his arms.

“Fuck.” Hermione willed herself to not close her eyes. Frustration grew behind her brow bone. Along with the frustration, the Calming Drought she had taken earlier begin to wear off and she also didn’t have the withdrawal potion she needed to help her combat the withdrawal symptoms she had begun to feel. As Hermione set her stare on Draco, her resolve crumbled. 

Merlin cleared his throat, awkwardly, and grabbed Hermione’s and Draco’s attention. “The text,” he said, waving a hand over it impatiently. “Talks about the discovery of the Veil and how they started researching it.”

Hermione walked over to Merlin, who held an old text in his hands. He pointed to a page that was written in olde English.

“Why is this written in olde English?” Hermione gently took the book from Merlin and started flipping through it. “You said this was written around the 1800s.”  

Merlin’s eyes traveled the pages with a frown. “No?” He grabbed back the text and looked through it. “It’s mildly archaic for this time, but I gather it’s still understandable.”

Hermione looked at the text, the words were somewhat understandable, but they kept blurring as she attempted to read over them.

“You’re a muggle-born,” Draco said, shifting closer. “It was customary to block muggle-borns from reading certain and most texts.” 

Merlin cringed, closing the book slowly and placed it on his stack of books. “I will work to break the spells that are ingrained in the books for you to be able to read it,” he said, looking at Hermione assuredly.

Hermione stared at Merlin, at this point she wasn’t even surprised. The annoyance trumped any other feelings and followed by the mild sting of embarrassment. Hermione hated any feelings akin to shame for her bloodline. Her jaw tightened and her blood began to simmer, her stress bubbling up. At this point in her life, she had been close to meeting death one too many times because of her ideals, and now she was sick and tired of her bloodline being thrown out and judged so harshly. Draco’s hand dropped on her arm, stilling Hermione’s silent brewing. His hand was surprisingly warm on her bare arm. Seconds ticked by and she blinked a few times to adjust to the sensation.

Merlin sensed the shift in the air and gathered his supplies faster.

“Let’s call it a night and figure this out later, maybe?” Merlin asked. “Let’s meet up Sunday, I’ll owl you?”

Hermione slowly pulled her arm from Draco’s hand and waved her hand in a motion reminiscent of accio. Items flew from different parts of her office and dove into her floating purse. Her cloak soon followed and Hermione dressed with a frustrated sigh.

“Sunday, sure, I’ll be working on a case for Legal Processes,” she said, her hair tumbling in curly waves around her shoulders.

Hermione shot Arthur a withering look, snatched her pointy hat from the cloak rack, and stormed out of her office.

“She’s in a right mood,” Draco muttered bitterly, following Hermione out of the office.

Merlin and Arthur were left to themselves, as the resident wizards left the office.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, he had his calculating gaze on the old wizard. “I’m dreaming, right? This is the afterlife, isn’t it? I had a feeling you’d be my personal hell, along with magic.” 

Merlin, who had been collecting the last of his books into his expanded satchel, looked at Arthur. The king (or former king) was uncharacteristically asking question after question. Merlin chalked it up to shock.

“I will answer questions later,” Merlin said walking to the fireplace. “Let’s go, I’m taking you to my flat.”

Arthur stood up, finally not feeling dizzy, and followed after Merlin.

“Grab a handful of the green powder,” Merlin instructed.

Arthur cautiously did so, eyes flickering from Merlin to the green powder.

“Merlin.” There was a warning tone in Arthur’s voice.

“Arthur,” Merlin replied in the same tone. Then more firmly. “Step into the fireplace.”

Arthur held back a groan. The list of things in life that Merlin asked of him kept getting more and more ridiculous. He frowned and blamed magic. Blasted, blasted magic.

“What the hell do I do with this?”

“Throw it in front of you and say ‘Branigan Residence’ simultaneously,” said Merlin.

Merlin’s glare kept Arthur from asking any further questions. A vein in Merlin’s forehead throbbed as the Once and Future King disappeared in a flash of green flames. He tied up his hair with his trusty neckerchief and climbed into the fireplace.

 

Earlier, Draco had stalked off and followed after the silently seething witch. He recently had been impressed with how Hermione transferred her swotty personality into something useful. He now understood how she was able to command a room full of wizened wizards during a trial. The wizengamot respected her out of apprehensive fear. The woman wasn’t the Head of the Department of Mysteries for nothing.

“Bloody hell, Granger, what the hell is wrong with you!” Draco shouted, his voice echoed down the long, dimly lit, corridor.

She ignored his shouting and pressed the lift button repeatedly. Hermione glanced at Draco with a blank stare over her shoulder before stepping into the lift. Draco began to sprint to catch the closing door. At the last second, he grabbed onto the railing before it closed. He sent her an age-old scowl. Draco went from annoyed to livid in mere seconds. It was easy to get pissed at Hermione, it was comfortable.

“I asked, what the hell is wrong with you?” he said, stepping into the lift, his tall form looming over her.  

Hermione stayed silent with her arms crossed and a blank expression.

Draco clenched his jaw. There were many tense minutes as the lift descended to the Ground level of the Ministry of Magic. Attempting to analyze Hermione’s features and figure out what she was thinking was harder than Draco thought possible. The woman didn’t as much flinch when Draco followed her out of the lift.

The Apparition point came into view at the end of the corridor in the Atrium. Draco wanted to question her until he understood what was going through her mind. Curiosity ate away at him so much, that he grabbed Hermione’s arm. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t a wise choice. The witch was very close to snapping at anything that breathed and she was very close to the Apparition point.

“Let go.”

It was a blunt command that sent unwanted shivers down Draco’s back.

He did so immediately as the small force of Hermione whirled on him, brandishing her wand.

“I am on a very short fuse right now, Malfoy,” she spat. “I have been away for a week tending to classes at Hogwarts with pre-teens and whiny teenagers that are irresponsible on a day to day basis. I am not sure why the Founders thought that grouping a bunch of kids together to teach them magic was a good idea, for Merlin’s sake-” Hermione caught herself mid-rant, her eyebrows furrowed and she seemed to emit sparks, not just from her wand. Her eyes rolled with irritation that seeped off of her. “Do not mess with me.”

Draco stood there, on the receiving end of her rant, back ramrod straight because he had the decency to know that Hermione was a witch to be feared. On the other hand… he was also a wizard to be feared, even though, at this point, he wasn’t sure that Hermione ever looked at him with fear.

Annoyance? Sure. Anger? Oh yes. Suspiciousness? No doubt. But fear?

In a heartbeat, Draco would bet his Great Aunt Walburga Black’s screaming portrait that Hermione had never feared him. To say in the least, he was impressed. Draco took a moment to asses his situation.

Hermione, who stood at a staggering height of 157 cm, was still pointing her blasted wand at him, which she had no reason for, and she could easily maim him if she deemed it necessary.

She was the smallest person he knew that could pack a mean punch magically and physically. On the other hand, Draco had learned to talk his way out of tricky situations. It took years of practice for people to respect him enough to have a simple conversation without the other person wanting to punch him. Of course, he would always be a Slytherin at heart and his cunning attitude, nor ambition had fizzled out.

“You dragged me into this mess, now you owe me some explanation on how you’re going to deal with it,” he said, his eyes flickered to the wand and then back to her burning golden eyes. “Now, put that thing away before someone gets hurt.”

Draco had a feeling that Hermione was too wand happy. She always seemed happy to pull it on him.

Unbeknownst to Draco, Hermione wanted to yell again. Except for this time, she wanted to throw dangerous spells and make things explode, along with the yelling. Draco’s shrewd gaze did nothing to help her need to be alone to deal with her emotions. All of her emotions were simmering just beneath the surface and threatened to spill over.

The physical issues of her withdrawal had started as she dealt with her Unspeakables and the Aurors investigating the Death Chamber. Hermione had planned to get back to her office, collect her things, and head home. She had sent a Patronus to Harry, asking him if he could deliver her personal items to her flat that night. Except, nausea she had not been feeling the past week (because of lovely withdrawal potions) had started attacking her in slow torturous waves as the evening went on.

Cold sweat trickled down her back and currently, mild tremors ran through her arm as she held her wand at Draco’s throat.

Hermione wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to hold on until she broke. She sure as hell did not want to break in front of Malfoy of all people. He was the last person she wanted to show any vulnerability in front of, reformed be damned.

Because the fates hated her, she didn’t get what she wanted.

If Draco noticed the tremors as she put her wand away, he didn’t comment. Hermione stepped into the Apparition point, her whole body itched to leave. She looked everywhere but him. Hermione had a feeling she looked crazy.

“Granger,” he said, his hand twitched at his side.

There was something in his tone of voice that caused her to stumble backward. Hermione’s eyes snapped to his as he stepped into the Apparition point with her, taking advantage of her minor slip. There was something indecipherable in his tired murky eyes as he neared her. She must have been really worn out because Hermione could have sworn she saw something akin to worry flash in Draco’s eyes.

“Please.” Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. “Leave me be.” 

Draco grabbed onto her as her body betrayed her and she swayed with exhaustion. Hermione noted Draco's, surprisingly, strong arms held her up as she sagged into his chest, her vision blurring. She knew as soon as Draco caught her, she was a lost cause. 

“What street do you live on Her-Granger?” he asked.

“The wizarding section near Floral Street in Covent Garden,” she replied, giving up on holding herself together. Hermione leaned into Draco as his arms shifted and her world moved. “The Apparition point is in the middle of the flat building courtyard.”

Draco let out a breath, knowing he would have to look into Hermione’s mind to see the courtyard of her building.

“I’m-”

“Just do it.” Hermione cut him off. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms in a bridal carry. If she had been more coherent, she would have strongly objected. “I am beside myself with exhaustion and I will most likely splinch something before I make it home. Do your Healer duties, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyebrows lifted but he said nothing. Instead, he peeked into her mind and grabbed the image he needed without being invasive.

“Hold tight, Granger,” he whispered into the general area of her ear, which was covered by her bundle of curls.

Hermione shivered and tensed as the familiar pull of apparition led them away.

Draco’s disapparition was quiet, he had learned to do so out of sheer necessity and convenience. They landed smoothly, surrounded by a mist of magical fog in the center of the courtyard without disturbing a soul. Draco could immediately tell that they were in a magical area. Scattered around London, he knew that there were a variety of wizarding residences. Just as Grimmauld Place, wizarding residences hid between buildings, underneath shops, and above muggles.

 

It was a world hidden in plain sight. The courtyard hummed pleasantly with free-flowing magical energy. He looked up to see balconies aplenty in different shapes and sizes, magical plants growing and yawning with the fading evening light, familiars trotting from the various railings, and floating lanterns and lights. It was comforting to feel the magical energy in the air. The magical energy in muggle areas was always very stifling. Therefore, Draco preferred to be in wizarding areas versus muggle areas.

“My flat is number 21F,” said Hermione softly, her eyes were closed and he could feel her wilting in his arms.

They neared Hermione’s door a few minutes later. Draco could feel that she was struggling to hold onto her consciousness. As they approached her door, Hermione raised her hand slowly and her front door swung open quietly.

“To allow you through my wards, my door has to be opened magically for it to register a new person,” she explained softly. 

Draco shifted her slightly in his arms. He frowned as he did so. She felt oddly light, even for her height. He stepped inside and toed off his shoes with ease and closed the door behind himself with his heel. It didn’t take him long to find her bedroom, in the darkened unfamiliar flat. His frown deepened as he set Hermione slowly onto her bed. A bed in which, for some odd reason, he knew that it had not been slept on for a very long while. 

Draco could see now, in the dim lighting that she was shivering, sweat rolled down her temples and she curled into herself. His Healer instincts took over as he grabbed his wand and cast a few diagnostic spells. She had a fever of 32℃, he let out a long-suffering sigh.

_What the hell was wrong with her?_

Draco rubbed his forehead twice with his hand and walked into Hermione’s bathroom and started rummaging through the cupboards to find her towels. He also, in his quest for towels, found vials of Temperature Reducing potions and Pepper-Up potions.

He returned to her bedroom with a cold wet towel and the vials. In his quick absence, Hermione had shed away the layers of her outfit and took off her shoes. She was underneath a thin blanket and was visibly shivering and sweating. Her lips were tinged blue and her skin was too pale for her complexion.

“Granger,” he muttered sitting next to her. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Hermione blinked her eyes open, they were drowsy and unfocused, her eyelids opened and closed every few seconds. It was her attempt to stay awake. “Small breakfast and lunch,” she muttered.

Draco extended his wand and conjured a drinking glass from the kitchen.

“ _Aguamenti,_ ” he said, pointing his wand at the glass. It filled with water and he grabbed it out of the air. Draco cradled Hermione’s head with one hand. “Here, drink some water, you need to hydrate to be able to take potions.”

Hermione’s head nodded in his hand and he brought the glass up to her lips. She drank slowly and only half of the water before she started coughing.

“I’m going to throw up.” And that was the only warning Draco had.

He summoned the trash bin from her bathroom, just in time as she heaved over the side of her bed and deposited all the contents of her stomach into the bin. Draco observed as she gripped the bin and then groaned and fell back onto her bed. He turned up his nose and vanished the bin with a flick of his wrist.

Draco stood up and paced the room with short strides. He paced and his thoughts spiraled. Hermione symptoms matched at least four illnesses he was aware of. Mainly the illnesses were muggle illnesses because magical illness presented much more...drastically. Influenza, streptococcal pharyngitis, pneumonia, and infectious mononucleosis were plausible causes. The list of the symptoms of each ran through his head and he checked off the illnesses that didn’t match her symptoms.

Nausea, dizziness, cold sweat, and chills narrowed it down to influenza and infectious mononucleosis. Infectious mononucleosis was ruled out as Draco sent another diagnostic spell to hover over Hermione.

It ruled out a rash, a chronic cough, and swollen throat. The diagnostic spell showed negative for any disease, with a solid blue orb.

 _Why the hell am I worrying so much over her?_ Draco gritted his teeth as he watched the orb and pushed his thoughts into the back of his mind.

“What?” Draco examined the blue light that was floating over Hermione.

Hermione groaned and covered her eyes with her arm. “Withdrawal,” she croaked. 

Slate eyes traveled over Hermione and he performed another spell. It glowed green for withdrawal symptoms. “Damn Granger,” he said, putting his wand away and he crossed his arms. “You weren’t exaggerating your sobriety. That would be what you’re sick from.”  

Hermione opened her semi-swollen eyes and glared at Draco. “I’ve been sober for about a week.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Circe’s soul.” Draco looked a strange mixture of concerned and unamused. Hermione decided it was a weird look on him. “You’re absolute barmy.”

“Fuck off.” She all but croaked.

Draco rolled his eyes. Such a charmer. He helped her drink the potions and then put the vials aside.

“Where’re your potion supplies?”

Hermione roughly directed him to her supplies and after he got her another bin and a new glass of water, he set to work.

Hours later, Hermione’s spare bedroom turned lab/office was filled with the potions he had been brewing, which were still bubbling when he checked on them, and Hermione’s complexion looked much better, taking on her regular olive tone, and her lips were pink once more. Except her undereye bags were still prominent and she was breathing somewhat raggedly. 

“Still running a fever,” Draco muttered, waving his wand over her.

She slept fitfully, moving every so often.

His wand vibrated, setting off the alarm he’d set for the potion to help with Hermione’s nausea. After giving her the potion, he settled himself in the loveseat that was in the corner of her room and proceeded to read up on the tomes that he’d taken from her home office regarding withdrawal symptoms for witches and wizards.

That is how Hermione found him, hours later when she woke up from her fever and potion induced sleep. Her skin didn’t burn, her world was not spinning, and there wasn’t painful drumming in her skull.

Draco was wearing his glasses again, looking to be engrossed with the reading material in front of him. Except, his eyes were closed and the book was teetering off his lap. 

She observed him silently, wincing as she attempted to sit up in bed. Hermione’s whole body ached, her throat felt swollen and her hair was a sticky mess from sweat. Hermione noted that her splitting headache had subsided and it didn’t hurt to think and be in the light. Taking stock of herself and her room, Hermione found that Draco had made several vials of light blue potions and placed them on her nightstand. There was a note attached to one of them.

_These are stronger withdrawal potions. They will target and slowly mend the part of your system that has formed the addiction. Once you’re awake, take one every 15 hours._

Hermione uncapped the vial and took it in one go. She expected to go into a coughing fit, but the potion didn’t taste much of anything.

With Draco still sleeping, Hermione quietly set the empty vial down and swung her legs to the other side of her bed. The world spun quickly and she paused her movement, waiting for her vertigo to subside and closed her eyes. Seconds ticked by and her eyes opened and she continued her process of getting out of bed.

An hour later after Hermione had showered, cleaned herself up and changed her clothes, she felt exponentially better. She wiped the fog from the mirror and glanced at her reflection. Hermione's under eyes were sunken in and her eyes were bloodshot. Hermione sighed, grabbing her wand from her counter and used it to magic her hair into a top knot and slipped her wand into the bun. It would be a while before she returned to be a normal functioning human.

When she walked back into her room, Draco was nowhere in sight. There was now a scent of food in the air. It was a rich and savory smell that made her stomach rumble. Which reminded her that she’d thrown up the little food she had that day. 

Hermione thankfully didn’t feel any nausea as she stepped out of her bedroom and into the corridor that led to the open living room. It was dimly lit with a few candles that had been turned on.

Hermione tried her best to not flinch at the sight before her. The sight of Draco _cooking_ had her frozen. Draco Malfoy was cooking in her kitchen. Draco _fucking_ Malfoy was being domestic in her kitchen.

 “Don’t just stand there like a fish out of water, Granger.”

 Draco’s voice jarred Hermione from her thoughts. She stepped slowly toward the kitchen and wandered near the island, where levitating knives were dicing onions, tomatoes, and herbs. Draco was washing potatoes in the sink by hand. There was a simmering pot on the stove which was stirring itself and periodically spices were being added.

 “Am I dead?” Hermione really couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Draco was wearing her frilly apron, a pink monstrosity that Ginny had gotten her as a gag gift. She blinked and rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“Come off of it, Granger,” Draco snapped. “Nutrition is highly important and I don’t fancy letting house elves do all the work.”

Hermione’s lips twisted as she placed herself on her bar counter stool. She let the quip on house elves slide.  

“Malfoy, cooking though?” she asked, her eyebrows raised incredulously.

His lips pulled into his familiar sneer and he took his wand and muttered a few incantations. The potatoes flew onto her island chopping block, along with a knife and began to chop themselves. He wiped his hands on the apron and raised a challenging eyebrow back at her. It was a weird look on him.

“I’m making for you, soup and rolls,” he asserted, ignoring her looks, and began tinkering in the kitchen once again.

Hermione chose to live in a wizarding section instead of muggle areas. Because she had so many friends that came in and out and she used owls to communicate frequently, if she lived with muggle neighbors, she’d be getting Ministry officials visiting or owling her flat more than she’d care to admit. She loved the muggle world, its where her parents lived, her extended family and it held wonders that the wizarding world only cared to imagine and shy away from. Her magic flowed freely when she was in the wizarding world and she liked to keep it that way.

So, Hermione’s kitchen was equipped as a wizarding kitchen, which when she had moved into the flat, she had no idea how to work it. She’d helped out her mum in her kitchen at her parent's house growing up, so she knew the ins and outs of a muggle kitchen but a wizarding kitchen came with a whole new set of learning opportunities. Therefore Hermione truly had a learning curve when she learned how to cook via magic. 

Muggles used a plethora of electronics to make food. Wizards ordered and bought their food from Elf Delivery Services, weekly Sunday Food Markets on Mulberry Street that went the opposite way from Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. Along with buying the food was obviously cooking it. Hermione had to learn a slew of spells that were ancient, passed down generations of wizarding households and backfired on her half the time. She loved cooking and learning but only if she was able to progress.

Hermione asked Molly Weasley for help, but she found the woman was too neurotic in the kitchen and unhelpful in teaching Hermione properly. Thank Merlin that Ginny had silently watched her mother cook that Ginny was able to give Hermione much calmer lessons. Hermione found even when the spells backfired, the food was still decent.

Presently, Hermione sat on her bar stool, quietly amazed as Draco commanded the kitchen with a flick of his wrist and a wave of his wand. The spells looked easy enough, but Hermione knew it took a lot of practice to be able to spell the food to cook properly.

“Wow, I am being aggressively fed.” Hermione laughed sarcastically. “You must have the _best_ bedside manners at St. Mungo’s.”

“I took an oath,” Draco said ignoring her jibe. He was kneading the dough with his hands skillfully. “A Healer oath that is very similar to the Unbreakable Vow.”

He finished prepping the dough and it lifted off the chopping block and separated into 24 different bread rolls, all baking as they flew through the air and settled onto the awaiting cooling rack on the counter.

Hermione wasn’t sure why Draco was opening up to her, as if him cooking wasn’t strange enough, but she listened regardless. She could still feel the after effects of coming out of a withdrawal spell. Her head was still spinning when she stood and she didn’t fancy standing up.

“You die if you break it?” Hermione, if anything, was insanely curious.  

“Not death,” he said. “The consequence is to lose your magic or get it locked up for a very long time.”

“I guess for some people it would be like losing oneself,” Hermione replied, leaning her chin on her propped up palm. “Essentially dying.”

“Precisely,” he said, turning his back to her and going over to the pot with chopped potatoes. Hermione detected thick emotion, thinly veiled in his voice. “It was the alternative to house arrest. I wanted to continue my studies instead of wasting away at some relatives estate or the Malfoy Manor.”

Hermione allowed silence to settle as she watched Draco flitter about in the kitchen. She’d never imagined having a simple conversation with Draco, much less in her kitchen and with him cooking her food. She chalked it up to the various potions that were floating through her body that her reactions weren’t stronger.

“I wanted to explain myself.” Draco stood in front of her, spoon in hand and a pensive look across his face. “I came into your office with a very sour disposition.” His eyes shifted away from her and he cleared his throat. “I hadn’t been in the best of moods that week, so I wanted to apologize.”

“Wha-” Hermione tried to speak but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

“Allow me to finish,” he said and she nodded slowly. “I wanted to start over, I…" 

Hermione watched him pause and he crossed his arms. She understood his doubt, it was now written all over his body language.

“Since you’re the head of the department, you’re essentially my boss,” Draco shifted, his back still to her, she could see the hesitation as he moved his shoulders and looked somewhere over her shoulder. “I need good recommendations from my workplaces because the Ministry is still keeping tabs on me. I understand that it’s public knowledge that you’re the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Therefore, no matter how frustrating you are, I want us to attempt to get along.” 

Hermione, with a scoff, said, “Yeah us get along, only when I’m weak and feverish that has worked.” But she mulled it over a moment, shrugged and gave him a resolute nod. “A bunch of old coots are attacking my position.” Being frank with Draco was her first step to being civil.

She lowered her arm and massaged her temples with her fingers. “They think I am too young to run that department at the Division of Magical Legal Processes. I’m perfectly capable, I have a Masters degree in Law, and I trained under highly professional and difficult lawyers.”

A smirk splayed itself across Draco’s lips.

“Ah, Granger the overachiever at a young age,” he said with a halting laugh. “Those old wizardbags only see what they want. Take it from personal experience.”

Hermione let out a breath. “I’ve been on the run from the Ministry as well,” she said. “It’s ridiculous and now after all that we’ve done for this government, they treat me with suspicions.”

Draco levitated two bowls onto the bar counter behind her sink and utensils. Hermione bit back a groaned as she stood up and her abdominal muscles protested, she ambled her way to the bar counter and took a seat in another stool.

He preformed another spell and food arranged itself into the awaiting bowls. “Do you want butter on your roll?”

Hermione mutely nodded, she still felt as though she was in a fever dream. Freaking Draco Malfoy was cooking in her kitchen. It couldn’t be possible.

“When do you work at St. Mungo’s?” Hermione asked.

“All week,” he said. “Even on Mondays and Wednesdays when I come in the evenings to the Department of Mysteries. I’m working on my Magical Emergency and Trauma fellowship right now.”

They ate in utter silence. It wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either. Hermione didn’t know what to think of their situation.

“As you newly appointed physician, I need to know,” he said breaking their silence. “What are you withdrawing from?”

“Alcohol,” she muttered, pushing her semi-empty bowl away. “It seemed to be perfectly fine up until this year.”

Draco blinked at her, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He slowly slurped his spoon and placed it back in the bowl.

“Nothing’s ever fine when it comes to overconsumption of alcoholic beverages,” Draco said, a stern look crossed his features. “As long as I’m around, you will not see any of that stuff around you.”

Hermione regarded Draco with a tired look. Exhaustion crept back into her bones.

“Okay so you expect me to believe that you have to take care of me because of some bloody oath you took?” she asked.

Draco fell silent and watched as Hermione stood up from her stool. She sent off her dish to be cleaned and exhaled.

“I have to help you,” he said quietly, a sour expression flickering over his features. “I don’t want my magic to be locked up.”

Hermione, who was swaying on her feet, didn’t have enough energy to go to proverbial battle with Draco. Years of resentment and frustration directed at Draco threatened to spill from her lips. She most-assuredly had not forgiven him for all he had done. Even if Hermione had spoken for him at his trial, it hadn’t been enough to garner forgiveness. So, she turned around and left the kitchen without another word to go back to her room and her warm bed.

 

**Saturday, September 27, 2003**

Hermione slept on through the whole afternoon and didn’t wake up until around 3:00 am the next day. Her flat was eerily quiet as she ventured through it, feeling much better and a tad groggy. She wasn’t sure if leaving Draco to fend for himself in her flat was a good idea, but Hermione had been too out of it to care. Except, hours later he was nowhere in sight and the tight feeling in Hermione’s chest loosened.

 

Hermione gingerly sat on her sofa and absentmindedly twirled her hair with her finger. It was the first time in a _long_ while that she was able to breathe properly. Her head was the clearest its been since before the war.

 

Now, to matters from the present, Hermione couldn’t wrap her mind around the new image Draco made for himself.

Aside from the Draco situation, the absolute clusterfuck of a situation her department presented her was gnawing at her. Merlin, _freaking Merlin_ , was going to get back with her on the books that needed to be released about the Veil. Hermione mentally went down a list of things she had to get done.

 

Talk to Merlin, order her Unspeakables to have a few days off as they figure out what is going on with the Death Chamber, visit Antiqui Libri again, avoid Draco with all of her being, talk to Harry and explain what happened, do some work in her _real_ office because her time turner project was failing miserably.

 

It had been a day and a headache.

Thankfully her Legal Processes office ran fine without her. Her Deputy Head, Avery Callum, ran the department as well as Hermione did. They got on smoothly and Hermione was able to divide her time, somewhat, seamlessly with the Legal Processes’ office and her Department of Mysteries office.

 

She felt wide awake as she wandered around her flat, picking up and cleaning items that were strewn about. Hermione didn’t spend much time at home since she started working two jobs. She remembered to take her prescribed potion right at 15 hours and continued tinkering around.

As the clock hit 5:00 am, Hermione still felt wide awake, so she settled in her office-turned lab, and worked on a neglected case for Legal Processes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geeeeee. I wanted this to be an extra long chapter! So for all you lovely lovely readers, a whopping 11k (roughly about 50 pages) worth of material. Because I am a busy working adult (sadly), that is a hella lot for me. I really enjoyed writing this chapter! Took me forever because I am beta-less, I have an inconsistent writing schedule, and I’ve read over it so many times, I’m sure there are still errors.  
> But alas! It was a struggle to get it out, but I FINALLY did. Struggles aside, I had tons of fun with the characters. So much has happened in my personal life and I have been writing this chapter for so so long. I will continue updating and I’m sorry if it’s so sporadic. My life schedule is very hectic. 
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading! I hope y’all enjoy! xx


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